The Knight that Guards the Stars
by Sirenidae
Summary: 8 years after the War, Draco and Hermione find themselves in very different lives than they thought they would be living. Facing the challenge of a new Ministry, can they survive together or will they fight to the end? EWE M for language and adult content
1. Prologue Glossary and Characters

**I'm baaaaaAAAAAaaccckkkkkk! hahahahaha...first off, I will not waste your time with apologies for I do not much care for apologies nor do I think y'all will particularly care about hearing my excuses of living life and not writing fan fiction. But I am sorry, and I am back because I missed it so much!**

**This new story was inspired by a lot of things and one day I sat down with my friend DarkDecadence and came up with this idea together for her to write. And when she never did, I asked her if I could and she said yes so here we are. What so see before you is a product of more mature fanfiction. Haha basically a better form of writing for me as in better sentence structure, punctuation and fully formed plot lines and structure. Not better writing as in the fact that I am a good writer for I am not enough of a douche bag to say and mean that.**

**But anyway...here is the prologue/rules/glossary/set-up for my next fic (eight chapters deep and going strong. Looking to be about 50 chapters at the end, probably, but I don't know since I'm writing pretty long chapters at the moment). Dramione with a twist, I feel, as they are older and not in Hogwarts. Nor are they "star-crossed lovers" or forced together by a "marriage law". Essentially, I hope that this Draco/Hermione story is realistic, fresh and entertaining, for I have really poured my heart into it.**

**Oh yea, JK Rowling owns it all and I don't. Boo.**

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><p>Glossary:<p>

Ministry of Magic-MOM…currently under the Kingsley Shacklebolt administration, this new Ministry is headed by the regime theme of unity, equality and growth. Run primarily by Chancellor Blaise Zabini and his office, MOM also took much of it's re-structuring from Alderman Hermione Granger. It's new premises are housed in the Gherkin building of London, at 30 St Mary Axe.

MDPA-Ministry Defense and Peacekeeping Academy…Ministry of Magic's academy responsible for the training of regular MDP's, Animangi, Auror's, Specialized Auror's and Numbers.

MDP-Ministry Defense and Peacekeepers…Ministry of Magic's equivalent of a muggle police force. Houses the ranks of MDP's, Animangi, Auror's, Specialized Auror's and Numbers. Like any muggle poliece force, the MDP is responsible for the safety of the people, the country and Ministry Officials.

Ministry Officials Bodyguard Defense Law…article B in the bill on Ministry Official Safety Protocol. Section 25 discusses the security practice for high-ranking officials requiring all officials to have at least four Numbered bodyguards at all times. Law ratified and pushed through by Alderman Granger with the support of Chancellor Zabini.

Number…a very specialized bodyguard for important witches and wizards in the Ministry, similar to the American Secret Service. A Number is dedicated to whom they serve and are rewarded greatly for their efforts with substantial pay, quality living quarters and prestige. The position is looked upon quite favorably by this post-war society as a Number represents the ultimate sacrifice of protecting the officials responsible for piecing the country back together.

The Darkness-Second Wizarding War…the war fought at Hogwarts in which Voldemort and many of his followers were defeated by Harry Potter and members and supporters of the Order of the Phoenix.

The Reformation…the time of rebuilding the wizarding community of the U.K. after the Darkness.

Magic Shortage…deficit of magic in both the world and in wizards and magical creatures. Although the Ministry is, as of yet, unable to discover the source of the shortage, all signs point to pockets of Dark Magic left all around the country after the war, most likely from Voldemort and his followers. Has been wreaking havoc on the wizarding and magical communities of Great Britain.

Timed Magic Suppressant Law…Ministry of Magic law, created mainly by Alderman Granger, to help stem the effects of the Magic Shortage. Forbids any member of the magical community from using magic outside the hours of 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday and 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Referred to as the "Bitch Curfew" by discontents.

Dark Pockets…areas of Dark magic left over my mysterious means, most likely by Voldemort and his followers but the exact cause is unsure. All that is known is that these Pockets are most likely the culprit of the Magic Shortage.

MAG-Magical Advancements Group…Ministry funded research group responsible for the development of wizarding technology that will work and with make life easier during the Magic Shortage.

Transi-force…wizard weapons, manufactured by combining both elements of wizard-muggle technology, guns. Designs for many of these weapons have been leaked onto the black market. At first the Ministry thought it was just the handgun/pistol design, but soon they found out that other, more dangerous, weapon designs have been leaked as well.

Transi-force pistol…the smallest of the Transi-force weapons line, most similar in looks to a muggle pistol, and in action to a muggle taser. All members of the MDP carry a Transi-force pistol. Specialized Aurors have the authorization to carry bigger firepower.

Repercussion Threat…extremely violent and devastating crimes committed by Death Eaters or neo-Death Eaters after the Second Wizarding War.

Fair Trial Law…piece of legislature detailing that every person or persons that the Ministry interviews based upon suspicion of cavorting with Death Eaters in the past and present receive a trial by a jury of their peers.

Mud Jumper…slang, derivative of the pejorative Mudblood. Referrers to a witch or wizard or muggle-born witch or wizard who are in support of combining muggle technology with wizarding magic.

Ministry of Magic's At Risk Children Program…a way house for orphans, victims of the war, juvenile delinquents and other wards of the state. Timothy Terrence came from one of these houses before being placed at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the request of Alderman Granger.

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><p>Cast of Characters:<p>

Alderman Hermione Granger…28 years old. A very important figure in the Ministry of Magic. Responsible for a large number of laws and programs written and founded in order to make the magical community function and thrive after the War, respectively. A supporter and worker in the Shacklebolt administration, she believes wholeheartedly in her cause and has been working in the Ministry for eight years, six as her position as Alderman.

Draco Malfoy…27 years old. Ministry malcontent and former Death Eater. Currently carrying out a 10-year exile sentence in muggle London. Muggle cover identity is Daniel Collins, who works as a police officer in London. Most recently promoted to Detective Constable in his muggle cover job by Detective Inspector Lestrade.

Chancellor Blaise Zabini…28 years old. Second in command to Minister Shacklebolt and very important in the politics of the new Ministry. Very wealthy from his mother's many marriages, Chancellor Zabini maneuvered his way into his position using his money, although no one would argue that he wasn't right for the job. Ambitious and cunning, Chancellor Zabini manages and oversees the larger workings of the Ministry and plays a very big role in its long-term operations. Never a true follower of Voldemort, the Blaise Zabini in this story never had any prejudices against muggle-borns and has a good heart, albeit a little politically cutthroat.

Timothy Terrence…20 years old. Alderman Granger's Number One and her favorite bodyguard. Hermione found him when he was very small at one the Ministry's At Risk Children's homes and made sure he was allowed to go to Hogwarts after seeing a spark in him. Upon his graduation from Hogwarts, and then the MDPA, Hermione offered him a job and he accepted, setting the record for the youngest Number One ever. He started when he was just 18 and has been working for three years.

Carl Hammond…45 years old. Alderman Granger's Number Two, a big, muscled man with a penchant for action over words, although he is known to speak when the occasion is important. Kind-hearted, but quick to judge, Carl does not like Wes Smithfield's southern accent. Has been working for Hermione for five years.

Beverley Coulter…25 years old. Known to her friends and boss as Bev, she was one of the first female applicants to the MDPA. Alderman Granger's Number Three, a very stylish witch with a crush on Wes Smithfield. Has only been working for Hermione for one year.

Wes Smithfield…37 years old. Hermione's bodyguard Number Four, a transfer in from the American Ministry of Magic. An Oklahoma native, Wes is very fond of NASCAR, driving stick, country music and flirting with Bev. Has been working for Hermione for just under a year.

Harry Potter…27 years old. The Boy Who Lived, head Auror and Director of Auror training at the MDPA. Married to Ginny Weasley.

Lucius Malfoy…father to Draco Malfoy, died while carrying out 10-year exile sentence in muggle London.

Narcissa Malfoy…mother to Draco Malfoy, died while carrying out 10-year exile sentence in muggle London.

Ron Weasley…27 years old. Brother of Ginny Weasley, best friend of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and former lover of Hermione. Also works as an Auror under Harry Potter.

Detective Inspector Lestrade…head detective for one precinct of the London police force, his main annoyance are law-breakers and Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes…the hottest consulting detective London has ever seen. Extremely smart and only the deepest magical confounding charms work on him, otherwise he can deduce right through all that magic.

Dr. John Watson…Holmes' best friend and assistant consulting detective. Mostly he just follows Sherlock around.

Sergeant Sally Donovon…a stuck-up bitch. Mostly a plot device if she had more page time.

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><p><strong>Please, please, please someone, anyone, I'm literally begging you, to tell me if you like this idea so far and I will post the first chapter. Love you all!<strong>


	2. Chapter 1 Updated

**Chapter 1 Updated**

**Okay so, I am back. Officially. And my first act as president is to finish my stories one at a time. I'm starting with this one first, and I'm re-doing it. A lot has changed since I last wrote, so I'm taking the time to go through it all and fix everything I want to. There weren't many big changes in this chapter, but enough.**

**Sorry for the delay!**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 1 – Friday, August 19th, 7:24 p.m.<p>

...

The sweltering London night was about to storm. Electricity hung in the air, fizzing only when someone dared to move in the humid, heavy lower-atmosphere. Hardly anyone dared. A mere shuffle to the mailbox would induce such a heavy sweat that a cool shower was immediately necessary.

"This ain't natural," muggles muttered, idly fanning their sedentary selves in parks or on shady porches. "It's like I can drink the water from the air, but it tastes all electric-like."

They were partly right, those people hiding in the shade. The fog of moisture was stuffed full of tension. But what the perspiring people of London didn't know was just how magical the edgy atmosphere really was.

Alderman Hermione Granger lazily scratched at a bug bite on the back of her left hand as she tried to finish reading the last paragraph of a memo on the desk in front of her. The hypnotic warm glow that filled her office from the light-orb hanging suspended above her did nothing to help her weariness. Only a month shy of twenty-eight, the witch still felt older than her age was traditionally supposed to denote.

That August in central London had been a record-breaking hot, especially this week, with the collecting of clouds refusing to burst into rain to break the humidity. A slow rising orange-angry sun shone constantly, setting later than usual and baking the city's inhabitants. It put the people on edge. Weathermen all over the country were baffled; hastily stammering explanations on the evening news about this sudden change in climate, but they were as lost as they were so many years ago trying to report on showers of stars and owls.

Hermione felt a tickle slide down her neck and past her collar, finally soaking into the fabric that clung to the small of her back. Not bothering to wipe the sweat away, as the futile action would just cause more moisture to form; the woman closed her eyes to rest them.

She hated the heat. Hated the fact that her office couldn't use A/C magic and she especially hated what the heat did to her hair. In this weather, it regressed back to what it was like in her early schoolgirl days: frizzing completely out of control before she had discovered the right combination of hair care products to calm her tresses into more manageable curls. She loathed the heat.

What she couldn't admit to herself was what she actually hated. The heat was just a scapegoat. What Hermione really despised was the Timed Magic Suppressant Law, an act of Ministry bureaucracy that forbade the magical community from using magic outside the hours of 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday and 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. It was this law that currently prevented her from casting a cooling charm on her office. Hermione tried not to think of the name the people called it in the streets behind her administration's back: the _Bitch Curfew_ was in full effect at the moment since it was now, named as such after the woman who had come up with the idea herself. Hermione opened her eyes to glance at the clock on her desk and sighed. 7:33 p.m. She hated the heat, the law, and the fact that she had created the law.

As Alderman, she occupied one of the highest positions in the British Ministry of Magic, and it was something Hermione prided herself on. After the War, she had realized that cleanup and reorganization of her country would be a huge undertaking, one that she had wanted to be involved in personally so she could oversee how it was done. There was no way that Hermione would stand idly by to watch everything she had fought so hard for to become muddled up again in a swath of red tape. No, this round the Ministry of Magic was going to do it her way, or not at all.

Almost immediately after her graduation from Hogwarts, Hermione had used her status and connections to maneuver her way into a slightly-higher-than-entry-level job at the Ministry's headquarters in London. In reality, the Ministry didn't even exist; the infrastructure was lost in the Darkness of the war. But thanks to the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, some semblance of what the Ministry once was began to trickle back.

However, the pace at which the trickle of facilities was reemerging did nothing to satisfy Hermione. So she built faster, urging the magical community to support this new government and encouraging her coworkers to do the same. Through it all, she easily climbed the ranks at the new Ministy of Magic.

She reached a point, however, where she saw her path break off in two directions. One showed her a future that she was expecting. A future filled with love and a life she knew she deserved. The other showed a future of love that she could give to so many in the magical community that she knew deserved it as well. Stubborn to the end, Hermione threw herself down that second path and into her work.

As a result, the Ministry of Magic was stronger than ever, according to a recent poll that was on one side of her desk, but this was only true because of the sacrifices that had to be made. Sacrifices that she, in her position as Alderman, a high-ranking Ministry official, had made. Tough decisions that had made Hermione the most controversial witch in the magical community. Decisions like the Timed Magical Suppressant Law that forbade anyone from doing magic outside the hours of ten to five on a weekday.

As a result, she had to hate the heat and not the law, for the hating of the law led to the hating of the self.

A knock interrupted her thoughts and she yawned, her body reacting to the shift in brain activity. Hermione absentmindedly wondered how the door still made such a noise with all the water saturated in the wood. "Come in," she muttered after concluding her yawn.

Timothy Terrence, her bodyguard Number One stepped into her office. Round-faced and blonde, the twenty-year-old's eager disposition made him easy to like. Hermione smiled when she saw him. Hand chosen by her from one of the Ministry of Magic's At Risk Children program, she had nurtured the spark she had seen in him, keeping in touch as he worked his way through Hogwarts and into the new Ministry Defense and Peacekeeping Academy. Upon his graduation, she asked him if he would do her the honor of protecting her; an honor that he had bashfully, and excitedly, accepted.

Hermione had watched this boy grow up to manhood and she felt almost like a big sister to the young man. "Timmy?" Hermione asked, inviting him further in. She knew what he was going to say next and had already started shuffling her papers in order.

"I'm sorry to bother you ma'am," Timothy intoned. He, along with the rest of her immediate staff, had quickly learned to call her "ma'am", as Hermione thought "Alderman Granger" was far too formal. "But the car is waiting." She nodded and he slipped back out of her doorway, closing the door with a click. It was a routine with which she was familiar and as apart a government she helped build based on the principle of orderly routine she liked the familiarity.

_Order from chaos_, Hermione told herself, standing up to a new wave of sweat she tried to ignore. It wasn't one of her latest nights at the office, but the heat took a lot out of her and she was grateful for the conclusion to her day. Satisfied that she had everything she needed for the coming weekend, Hermione tapped the light-orb above her desk twice with her finger and smiled with pride as it dimmed to blackness.

The light-orbs were an invention created by the Ministry funded Magical Advancements Group, or MAG. The orbs were to replace the need to light a wand by the _lumos_ spell and to replace lighting fires and candles by magic: an invention whose sole purpose was to help with the Magic Shortage as the orbs recycled the small amount of magic they used at all.

She was the one who had had the idea to start and fundraise the group, supervising the department from its beginning. It wasn't the easiest of feats. No one in the magical community had understood why they needed advancements of any kind, they wanted to focus on rebuilding and gathering themselves closer to their families after the Darkness, not think about governmental workings.

As Alderman, Hermione knew better than anyone that the morale and energy of her people were strained, but there would be no better way to stimulate both the economy and the hope of the people simultaneously unless she created MAG immediately.

MAG had been an immediate success, after the grumblings of the patrons during the fundraising; Hermione had been pleased to present the country with a new invention only two months into MAG's inception.

"An orb in every home, a light in every heart," her speech had concluded when she presented the invention over six years ago to an enthusiastic crowd. She had made good on that statement too. At least three government paid-for light-orbs had been given to every magical family as a gesture of goodwill but to also serve as a reminder of who was raising their country out of the mess of the Darkness and back into the light.

Heaving a sigh as she walked out of her office to the fading of her own light-orb, Hermione felt the familiar twinge of guilt that always accompanied her when she reviewed her ambitious moves over the past eight years with the Ministry.

"It seems a bit like propaganda, don't it?" Ron had bluntly pointed out to her when she practiced her light-orb speech so many years ago.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione had tediously explained to him as she had to Harry when he had expressed the same opinion: "It may be a little hokey, but this is honestly what the people need right now, can't you see that? Simple, easy concepts for them to grasp so they can begin to trust in a government that has failed them time and time again while they grasp at the bigger issue of healing from this national tragedy."

Hermione was pretty sure Ron had just said "whatever" and had moved to make out with her, but Hermione hastily put aside that memory and the fight that had come after it when she spotted Timothy and her bodyguard Number Two a few paces down the hall. "Good evening, Carl," Hermione stated before the big, muscled man in a dark suit turned to see her.

The tall man nodded at her, silent as ever, preferring action to words. Hermione wasn't perturbed. She hadn't been ever since she had learned that Carl Hammond spoke when the moment was always just right.

She grinned at him again as her Number One and Number Two fell into ranks just behind her, following her down the back stairwell that led into the lobby.

"Warm night, ma'am," Carl surprised her with his words, his voice deep and breathy. "Very strange."

"Indeed," the witch nodded. She thought back to the report that had come in earlier that day. It was a message from Ministry's weather division, forwarded on to her automatically because of her high position in the ministry: Hermione was to know everything that was going on, whether or not she needed to deal with it directly. The message told her what she had already been expecting; that the heat wasn't natural.

Carl had asked her a question. "Hmm?" Hermione asked her Number Two. "I'm sorry, Carl, I wasn't listening."

The big man repeated himself. "Any more news on this weather from the Ministry?"

Hermione sighed. She wasn't really at liberty to discuss any official Ministry business, but whenever these situations arose, she always found herself keeping her bodyguards as confidants. _I can't help it, I mean, I have no one else to talk to, and I know they won't tell anyone._

"The weather bugs over at the Ministry think that the gathering storm and hot weather have been the result of an expanding Dark Pocket, or something having to do with one. Either that or the humidity is reacting with the magic and making it worse. They don't really know yet, but something's happening with the left over Dark Magic."

Carl nodded. "That would explain the city's mood today. Bunch of rabble-rousers. Makes people crazy, it does…"

Hermione looked up at him as a rush of humid air pressed down upon their skins. Timothy had just opened one of the glass doors that surrounded the lobby of the new premises of the Ministry of Magic. Clearly noticing her alarm, Carl added; "It just puts people on edge, ma'am. Nothing to worry about, we're not expecting trouble."

Hermione nodded and smiled vaguely, shifting her concentration to shoving extra papers deep into her worn dragon-skin briefcase. A shiny black car was waiting for them at the curb. Her bodyguard Number Three was waiting for the group at the door. Bev Coulter was one of the first female bodyguards hired under Hermione's campaign for equality within the Ministry Defense and Peacekeepers, and she was as capable as any male bodyguard Hermione had ever come across.

Coulter wasn't one of those women who compensated for her femininity just because she was in a male-dominated position. The Welsh woman wore make-up and her hair was always put together copying exactly the at-the-moment wizarding fashion. Hermione had long ago given up being envious after Bev confided in her boss how long her morning routine took.

"Evening, ma'am," Number Three smiled down at the frizzy haired diplomat. "Great weather we're having, eh?" Hermione scowled at her female guard. Bev knew Hermione hated what the heat did to her hair and took every opportunity to tease Hermione about it.

"Open the damn door," Hermione growled but flashing a good-natured look at the 5'10'' woman dressed in a suit. She didn't seem to be sweating, Hermione noticed to her further annoyance. Bev laughed and did as she was told. Hermione admired her Number Three who, although at first glance just seemed like a very pretty MDP officer, was hiding lean and strong muscles beneath her polyester and cotton suit. Hermione had seen the woman in action at the MDP Academy once and she had never forgotten it.

It was during a routine walk-through and Hermione was being shown around the new location for the training and headquarters for the Academy. Her touring party had come across the main workout room with a boxing ring in the middle for hand-to-hand combat practice. The fighting style had to be picked up and learned by the MDP after Hermione's magic curfew had been placed into effect. They needed someway for their security forces to protect themselves after magic hours.

Bev had been younger then, just barely twenty-one, and recently challenged to a fight by a rather large man that the academy had nicknamed "the Bull".

The tour guide had tried to urge Hermione on past the scene, but she had waved the man off, she wanted to see this. "Who is that?" Hermione had asked her Number One. Timothy had stepped forward, then still nervous and awkward in his job.

"Er, that's, er, Bev…Coulter," he paused before rushing into a hasty "ma'am." Hermione ignored his stumbling and asked Number Two for her file. Carl had handed it smoothly to her before shooting a look at Timmy behind his bosses' back. Carl knew the younger bodyguard would get it eventually, he just wondered when.

Flipping through the file, Hermione had smiled wryly. "Ah, so she's the one." The first female to loudly volunteer for MDP, Bev was marked from the start as a "nobody". Her pretty face and lean body had done nothing to help her male peers take her seriously. Her story was one of having to prove herself over and over again, but that day would be her last in a long line of unnecessary struggles.

Hermione had tried not to clap too heartily at the end of Bev's "demonstration". She not only had kicked "the Bull's" large and very muscled butt, but she had ferociously roundhouse kicked the referee in the face when he went to check on his friend. "Why did you kick him?" Hermione had called down to the woman from the observation catwalk. "The referee, why did you attack him?"

Bev Coulter had straightened hastily up and tugged on her sweat-stained shirt as soon as she figured out by whom she was being addressed. "Rules are rules," the dark-haired Welsh woman had stated, neck craning up to see Hermione. "In all challenged fights here at the Ministry's Defense and Peacekeeping Academy, the opponent must be left alone for ten seconds before declaring defeat by his unmoving body or waving surrender before he allows or is allowed to be touched by one of his comrades." Bev had quoted the unwritten and unofficial rulebook set up by the ranks of men in the academy so well that some of them grinned and even laughed out loud, tension breaking in the air.

Hermione had moved on with her tour, leaving Bev to enjoy her success as a finally accepted member of the MDP.

Shortly thereafter, Hermione had summoned the woman to her office and had offered her a job, one that was to be collected straight after her graduation from the academy. Bev had, of course, accepted.

Hermione slid into her black Ministry car for the ride from her office to her apartment noting with pride how Number One and Number Two were already situated in the facing seats across from her. She felt the weight of the car jostle again as Bev got in the front passenger seat. Before they pulled out, the privacy screen lowered.

"Howdy this evenin', ma'am," an Oklahoma accent drawled out to her. Hermione nodded to her driver, bodyguard Number Four, and a transfer in from the American Ministry. Wes Smithfield had moved to London just a year ago as part of the continuing support from the Americans. Smithfield had jumped at the chance to be Hermione's driver.

"I know it's a muggle sport and all," Wes had stated during his interview with her. "But NASCAR drivin' is fantastic." Hermione had nodded along, remembering hearing about this American muggle fascination. "Besides," Wes had continued. "I think it would be awesome if I got a chance to learn how y'all drive."

Carl had coughed at Wes' southern accent during the interview, clearly voicing his displeasure at the corruption of the words you and all, but Hermione hadn't minded. To her, Wes Smithfield represented a personal connection the American Ministry making the man a walking symbol of his country's support in the U.K.'s time of crisis. So, Wes and his accent had stayed, his driving _was_ impeccable, and Carl seemed to get over him saying "y'all" although he never fully opened up to the American driver.

Timothy and Bev had taken to him immediately, Bev especially. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that the girl was slightly in awe of the thirty-seven-year-old cowboy-wizard, but she kept her mouth shut in deference to Bev's pride and Wes' job.

"Y'all ready to go?" Wes smiled playfully at the group in the back before pulling out of the car park without waiting for an answer. "Thought so," he muttered to Bev, making her giggle as the privacy screen went back up.

The ride from the Ministry on St Mary Axe, to her flat on Great Portland Street was an easy one, about twenty minutes cruising through the muggle traffic on the main roads in the Ministry car. The black Mercedes was enchanted to look like a muggle's diplomat car and with the additional stealth spells put on it, muggle police left these cars alone. There were about 100 of these cars in the Ministry's possession for the use of transporting V.I.P.'s like Hermione or for the transportation of prisoners, law-breakers, witnesses or anyone else that needed protection.

The cars were muggle cars, with only a little magic in them. The electrical functions in the muggle vehicles didn't malfunction at all, even in the presence of so many magical people and business affairs. The old fleet of Ministry cars had been destroyed when someone had figured out that the residual magic within the old machines could be harvested for better use. So, the old fleet was scraped and the magic was donated to St. Mungo's with the leftover spread out amongst the charities that needed it the most during the worst of the Magic Shortage.

The motion to ratify the purchase of the new cars was drawn up and pushed through into passing without any help from Hermione. This time it was conducted by someone else equally as important in the administration of the new Ministry, a man who was now fervently trying to reach Hermione by mirror.

"Yes?" Hermione heard Timothy ask into his invisible earpiece that was connected to her private mirror. "Please hold." Hermione's Number One looked almost apologetic as he extracted a mirror from inside his breast pocket and extended it to his boss. "Ma'am? It's Chancellor Zabini for you. He says it's urgent."

After the war, Blaise Zabini had maneuvered his way into the Ministry, using the extreme wealth his mother had collected over the years as leverage. However, no one would ever say that he was wrong for the job. Blaise Zabini was driven, dedicated, and determined to run the magical community to the best of his ability. He too, like Hermione, had sacrificed a family in favor of an all-consuming career path. The effect of his commitment to his job left no debate upon his skill as a Ministry official as well as on his ability to lead the people.

Hermione let her brow crinkle in a slight frown. Blaise never tried her on her private line after approved Magic Hours. _This must be important_, she thought reaching for the mirror. Hermione tapped the surface twice and smiled when she saw the face of her colleague appear in the reflective surface.

"Thank Merlin I got a hold of you," Blaise rushed into without formalities.

Hermione's smile slipped from her face as soon as she had seen his own worried expression. "Blaise? What is it? Is something wrong?"

The black man sighed and Hermione was startled to see the dark circles under his eyes. "We have reason to believe that a threat against your life has been made earlier this evening. After conducting a search, my people have verified that this threat is indeed very real. I have the MDP stationed outside your flat now."

Hermione noticed her bodyguards shift across from her but she focused completely on Blaise's face.

"Please, can you give me any details to what they want? Why has this threat been made?" She paused, mind racing. "Is it a Repercussion Threat?" she whispered, hoping his answer would be no.

She relaxed when she saw him shake his head. "No, thank Merlin, just some crazy wizard without any connection to the Darkness. But the threat is being taken seriously as he promised to use illegal Transi-force to bring you down." Hermione winced.

Transi-force was the name that defined the inventions developed under the Shacklebolt administration during the time when it had been decided to merge more of the wizarding lifestyle with the muggle one. The original idea of this combination was to help with Hermione's proposal that watering down the use of magic would not only ease the strain of the Shortage, but also keep anyone with ideas left over from the Darkness from hurting anyone. This idea had backfired when weapon plans had been leaked by a questionable source from the MDP into the black market. Wizard gangs and mobs across the world had gotten a hold of these new weapons and quickly put them into production. It had lost the British Ministry their Spanish and West African allies and it had been Hermione's and the Ministry's darkest hour.

This technology was referred to as Transi-force to describe the transitional qualities of combined magic and muggle technology. The force part was simple. It described the weapon part of the technology.

"Thank you for altering me. Any word as to which group this wizard represents?" Hermione remained all business; it was easier to distance herself when dealing with these kinds of crisis situations.

She watched as Blaise shook his handsome face again. "None so far, but we are doing research."

"Alright," Hermione said staring out the car window, thinking fast. Blaise seemed to catch her thought process midway.

"And no heroics here, Granger," the man said, using her last name to jerk her out of her reverie and to impress into her his authority.

The woman nodded, tearing her eyes away from the rushing scenery back to the mirror. "Understood Chancellor, sir." Hermione replied formally to relay the fact that she would obey him.

"Take care, please Hermione. You can't know the devastation I-the Ministry would feel if we lost you," Blaise said smiling slightly before tapping his end of the mirror, causing it to go blank. Hermione was left with her own tired eyes staring back at her, a reflection which for a moment, made Hermione think that she was staring into the eyes of a stranger.

Handing the mirror back to Timothy, Hermione heaved another big sigh. "Please inform Three and Four," the woman spoke softly, too tired to use their names. "We will no longer be going to my flat."

"The safe house, ma'am?" Timothy accepted the mirror and tucked it away in his pocket. Hermione nodded.

The two men were silent for a moment before Carl lowered the privacy screen to tell Wes and Bev the change in plans. Timothy leaned forward while Carl was busy talking with the two in front. "Ma'am? Are you alright?" Hermione was lost in thought again. Timothy grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Ma'am?"

Hermione turned her head at his touch and smiled warmly, squeezing back. "I'm alright, Timmy, just tired." He scrutinized her face, looking for more. "Is this my fault?" She asked the young man, still holding onto his hand. "I created this world we now live in, I am so tied into the community I've made that maybe…"

Timothy shook his head. "We've been through this. What you've made has given us a world to thrive in. Before we were just surviving, you know this. You led us through the Darkness, through the Shortage and you rebuilt all of this for us. You've given us our lives back, don't ever forget that." He squeezed her hand once more before letting go. Hermione looked back out the window as her Number One settled into his seat and Carl turned around.

The "cleverest witch of her age" let the lights of the city blur in her vision, the orange sunset framed the skyline in a haunting silhouette. She didn't feel so clever now.

"For some reason, I never can truly believe you, Timmy."

"I know," came his soft reply as it always did. "I know, ma'am."

This would be the last conversation Hermione Granger would ever have with Timothy Terrence.


	3. Chapter 2 Updated

**Chapter 2 Updated**

** Not a lot of changes here either, similar to chapter one, the more drastic changes will be coming in later chapters.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – Friday, August 19th, 8:13 p.m.<p>

...

A text beeped in on a lone cell phone lying at the corner of a sticky bar table. Its owner ignored the noise as he had with the previous three beeps.

"Looks like someone's really trying to reach you," the bored bartender pointed out with a dirty rag. It was a quarter past eight in the evening, but most everyone had gone home to their air conditioning rather than stay in his old bar, complete with the authentic touch of no A/C.

The owner of the phone snorted into a shot of Johnny Walker Blue. "I'm sure they are."

The bartender shrugged and finished wiping the glass he was holding in his other hand. Placing it down under the counter, he picked up another dirty glass and proceeded to wipe it down. Another text beeped in.

"What if it's an emergency?" The bartender added, noticing the man he served and the owner of the phone was dressed in London police uniform. An ice-cold stare from the patron told the bartender that it was time to go away to the other end of the bar. "I was just sayin'…"

The slouched man finished his shot of scotch before curbing the urge to smash the glass down onto the phone. Instead, the blonde placed the glass gently back down on the dark wood counter and flipped open the phone. Five texts shone angrily from the bright screen.

_Murder at the corner of Great Russell St and Bloomsbury Square. Pls. come immediately._

_ Not a request._

_ Where are you? Why is your radio off?_

_ COLLINS report!_

_ They're out of their league. Come anyway, looks interesting, Faker._

Draco Malfoy rose from his slumped position on the barstool and pocketed his phone. Slapping the muggle money down on the counter, he left the dingy bar out into the orange and humid air of the summer night. He was a few blocks away from the scene but he decided to drive his police car all the same. Draco knew he was a little buzzed and he liked that feeling when he was behind the wheel. He was supposed to be off-duty anyway, which was why he was at the bar getting sloshed in the first place, but the texter clearly didn't care or didn't know his schedule.

They were all signed the same: "from D.I. Lestrade", all except for the last one. That one was from the one man that both the police and Draco hated. It was signed: "–SH".

...

"Why are you still wearing your regular police uniform?" Sergeant Sally Donovon asked the tall blonde man when he arrived on the murder scene.

_Shut up._ "Because it brings out the color of my eyes," Draco shot at the pesky woman standing at the crime scene tape edge.

"I don't know why they let you get away with it. A detective sergeant is supposed to wear the right clothes." Sally crossed her arms in finality.

Draco ducked under the tape, bending his tall frame easily with the aid of his well-developed muscles. "Stop thinking about my clothing, Sergeant Donovon, it's not endearing."

He heard the woman stiffen as he retreated from her anger. She might have muttered a "fuck you" but Draco was already gone.

The extra moisture clinging to grass of the park brushed off on Draco's leather standard-issue police shoes and began to seep through onto his socks. He welcomed the cold water on his sweating feet, and enjoyed the sensation until he arrived at the scene.

A naked young boy lay brutally slain in a patch of maroon stained grass. A tall, lanky man with shaggy black curls knelt by the body, face hovering extremely close to the vicious stab wounds in the chest. The man's expression was one of pure thought and Draco could practically see the intelligence wafting off the man's pale skin. A short, plump, older man hovered behind the first waiting with an expression of anxious curiosity.

Detective Inspector Lestrade spotted Draco and strode immediately over to the tall blonde. "Collins," the aging D.I. stated angrily, using Draco's muggle last name. "Why is your personal radio off? It is regulation for a police officer to always have his radio on when he is on duty."

Draco was about to respond when the dark-haired man cut him off. "He was off-duty, Lestrade, in case you missed the scotch on his breath or his slightly tilting stance, or perhaps his brilliant parking job." The speaker nodded back towards Draco's car. The group minus the speaker turned to look at the curb. The poliece vehicle was parked at an odd angle, with one tire over the curb. "And he's not a police officer anymore, or did you forget that you yourself that you promoted him to Detective Sergeant just two months ago?"

Lestrade was used to this behavior from the only consulting detective in the world, yet he still had a slack-jawed look on his face. Draco was also used to it, even though Draco had only met the man two months ago, after being promoted to D.S. It annoyed Draco to no end that Lestrade still showed such amazement at this man's observations. Draco was always surprised himself, but he had learned to never be surprised that the man would always say _something _amazing.

The dark haired man unfurled himself from his position of crouching over the body. Standing up he was only six feet tall, four inches under Draco, but still the ex-wizard found himself in awe of his presence, though he tried not to let that show either.

"Good evening, Detective Sergeant Collins," the man drawled as he sauntered over to the pair of London detectives, his associate/roommate trailing behind him. "How's the fake name treating you?"

"We've been over this, Sherlock. Dan Collins _is_ his real name. We've checked." Lestrade always did such a good job of sticking up for Draco although there was no reason for him to.

"Mm," Sherlock Holmes muttered, ignoring Lestrade's protest and gazing deep into Draco's eyes, trying to detect any hint of deception. "I know it's in there, Faker," he whispered to Draco. "Your past, hidden somewhere deep, and I'll figure it out one day."

_No you won't_, Draco thought, holding the shorter man's gaze. _There's magic in me that even your immense intelligence can't penetrate_. Draco was still amazed that Sherlock had the brainpower to even realize that Draco was hiding something at all; the spell usually prevented average muggles from even sensing that. But, then again, Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street was no ordinary muggle. In another life, Draco was sure that he would have been an excellent wizard. Clearly, Draco observed as Sherlock turned away and proceeded to rattle off details of the boy's murder and murderer to Lestrade, his talents were needed here in the muggle world, helping these people.

"Come on, Watson, time to go see about my eyeballs." His puppy-dog-like companion followed dutifully behind Sherlock with an apologetic smile to Draco. Dr. John Watson believed Draco's lie, as did everyone else except for Sherlock Holmes. Draco didn't mind. He knew the deepest part of the spell would work on Sherlock if the man dug any further.

Draco realized that Lestrade had been speaking to him. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

Lestrade eyed his newest addition to the detective force with slight annoyance. "Listen, I forgot you were off duty so I'm going to let your driving go for today. We did need you but apparently Sherlock has been following these gang killings for a while so he got here first. I'll see you tomorrow, _sober_."

Draco nodded and turned to go. Lestrade watched him, broad shoulders in a permanent slump, as if an unseen backpack weighed him down. He was a big guy, solid in his tall frame carrying muscles that spoke to his countless hours in the weight room, but Lestrade and the rest of the force knew that Dan Collins was tired.

Despite his physical perfection and excellent performance in the field, Collins had shown up eight years ago from nowhere it seemed, an eighteen year old nobody with the only apparent life-goal of being hired muscle for gangs around town. Lestrade had picked the boy up himself a few times before the state mandated Collins to work a rigorous schedule of community service. Lestrade had checked in on the boy again when he was twenty and found that he was still doing community service between minimum wage grunt work for private security firms.

Collins was then twenty-two and a changed man and Lestrade had been impressed and offered him a job in his force provided that he passed the entry exams and completed the police academy with high marks. Collins had done both exceptionally well.

Lestrade and the police in his sector had welcomed the twenty-three year old warmly, glad to have a strong and willing addition to their force, but Collins' excitement and pride seemed only skin deep. He never participated in the activities put on by the squad, nor did he frequent their after work haunts at the pubs. Collins had been chased after by several secretaries and the occasional young female police officer, but each time he had rebuffed their advances with the same polite missive.

Lestrade admitted that the man was handsome and intelligent but there was something else that he never could place. And each time he tried to think about it, his mind felt like a magnet being pressed up against the wrong pole, and his thoughts slipped away. Lestrade eventually chalked it up to the boy's undoubtedly hard childhood, but he wished Collins would settle down, it was hard to watch a life drain away right in front of him.

Dan Collins did seem to be surviving at least, and he made no complaints nor did he bother anyone. There were rumors that had circulated about the man, but none of them stuck. Like everything else that had to do with Dan Collins, gossip rolled off his person as easily as Lestrade's musings.

One man, however, seemed to think that there was something behind Collins' eyes besides just a troubled past. When Lestrade had promoted Collins to D.S., Sherlock Holmes, the force's resident pain in the ass, had stopped short when Collins had come into the room at his first crime scene as a detective.

"Who are you?" Sherlock had asked the tall blonde man with stone hard eyes.

Lestrade had taken over, knowing what effect Sherlock had on most people who had never come into contact with him before. "This is Detective Sergeant Dan Collins. He recently passed his detective exam and I promoted him. He's here to help." Lestrade had been expecting Sherlock to make an offhanded comment like "aren't they all", roll his eyes and get back to the body. Instead, the eccentric man had moved forward with keen interest.

"No. This is not Dan Collins. That is a fake name. Lestrade, check this man's name. Check his records. Check everything." Sherlock was staring furiously at Collins although he seemed too scared to move closer.

"What the bloody hell are you so shaken up about, Sherlock? This isn't like you," Lestrade had said, placing a hand on Collins' shoulder to put the rookie at ease. Collins had placed his own hand over Lestrade's, removing it from his shoulder.

"It's alright Detective Inspector, you're right, Mr. Holmes. Dan Collins is not my real name. I changed it as soon as I could. My old name represents a part of my past that I want to forget. I was heavily involved in gang life in London when I was younger, but that chapter is closed for me now."

Lestrade had never seen Sherlock frown so hard. He had also never heard Collins say so much about his past to anyone, let alone a complete stranger. He hadn't known which shock to address first. Sherlock hadn't finished which had stopped Lestrade from having to make a decision.

"This isn't right," Sherlock had said in an incredulous voice. "This isn't right at all. First off, I can tell by your stance that no chapter of your past is closed, nor will it ever be, the tight shoulders, rounded posture, like you're guarding your heart, the slight way you're balancing on your toes, as if you're ready to take off running. I know you did change your name but you weren't involved in gang life in London. Where are your tattoos? Where are your scars? Where is the hardened light in your eyes? Your accent, it's too posh." Sherlock had suddenly sworn, causing the room's inhabitants to jump. "Bollocks! Why can't I figure this out? There's something about you…" Sherlock had taken a step forward shaking a finger at Collins.

At this point, Watson had intervened. "Come on, Sherlock. Let's go." The smaller man had tugged on Sherlock's arm and led him out of the room. "I'm so sorry," the doctor had said to both Collins and Lestrade before exiting the room with a spitting mad Sherlock Holmes.

"Unhand me this instant, John. Lestrade! This man's a fake! I don't know how, but he is!" Sherlock's yells had come from outside the door. "Watson! Let _go_! Lestrade!"

Lestrade shook his head to clear the memory and saw Collins pause at his car to retrieve his keys. Lestrade looked at his watch. 8:40 p.m. _Only two more hours until I'm off duty_.

A sudden explosion rocked the Detective Inspector. The crime scene buzzed with excitement as people scurried around to make sense of the abrupt noise. Lestrade looked to the west. The sound had come from beyond his district. "Come on people," Lestrade called out to refocus his men. " That's not our division. Let's get this taken care of so I can go home."

The D.I. glanced back over his shoulder at Collins who was now staring in the direction of the explosion, face dead white before he sped off in his cop car directly away from the noise back to the station. Lestrade felt his brain slide away from giving Collins' actions another thought.

Draco Malfoy felt the explosion like everyone else, but he also sensed it. _Magic_. He sped away in his cop car as fast as he could. _It felt like magic_. Exiled from the magical community almost immediately after the conclusion of the Second Wizarding War eight years ago, Draco had been forbidden by the Ministry to use any magic, have any contact with magic or to mention anything about his past life of magic to anyone. Including his parents.

Draco had thought the sentence extremely harsh, unnecessarily so. The Malfoys had been reasonable at the end of the war; they had not tried to escape like many other Death Eaters. Instead, that had sat awkwardly in the Great Hall, waiting for something to happen, exhausted and just relieved to be a family again.

That all changed six months later when the beginnings of the Shacklebolt administration began to take shape. Every questionable person had been rounded up and interrogated, punishments dealt out according to the crime. It would have been too similar to the old days of the corrupt Ministry if it hadn't been for the Fair Trial law that had been passed, allowing for every defendant to have a fair and just trial, judged by a jury of his or her peers.

The system had worked out well for the wizards or witches with minor infractions, but not so for the bigger fish. Draco had thought his trial had been going well until the order came in from above that magical exile would be the only option the jury could choose besides death for the Malfoys.

He knew it wasn't fair, a sentiment echoed by the looks on the juror's faces when it was announced to the blonde that he and his family were to be separated and to live in exile for the span of ten years. Draco shut his eyes in his present to shut out the past the sobs of his father and screams of his mother.

The spell the Ministry had placed upon Draco and his parents allowed them to exist in the muggle world without question and it also would alert the Ministry if they ever broke the rules. It would also place them in excruciating pain until the Ministry arrived to take him into custody if they were to break the rules. It was impressed upon Draco that the Ministry would take their time arriving to collect him.

His parents had died from the stress some two years into their exile. A letter had arrived for him by post a week after they had passed, the envelope covered in cursive lettering clearly sent by the Ministry. They had written to tell him of the death of his mother and father, to console him for his loss, but to remind him of his exile and the fact that he would not be able to go collect their bodies or attended their funeral.

Draco had started drinking heavily after that letter.

As a result of the exile and the death of his parents, Draco had developed a sort of survival phobia of anything remotely having to do with magic, real magic or the muggle trickery that was so popular. So, as soon as he felt the explosion, Draco's internal sensors to flee went off.

The humid night allowed molecules to travel quickly through the night, and the force of the explosion blew the magic through the air rapidly to where Draco stood. The magical energy enveloped the recently turned twenty-seven year old and it had felt almost like a drug to him. Better than any of the muggle shit he had tried back when he was living on the street at eighteen. A drug that he could never have again, an alcoholic in a pool of vodka without a mouth, a bird with clipped wings living in a migrating flock. The effect left Draco feeling woozy and drunker than he had been earlier that evening.

He had to get out of there, or he feared he might spin his car around and drive straight into the source of the magic he missed so much. It wouldn't matter about the consequences or how much it would hurt; it would be enough to feel the magic for just a moment…

Instead, he forced himself to slam on the gas and hurdle towards the station to drop the car off and walk to his shitty flat like he did every day.

Shaking like an idiot back in his apartment thirty minutes later, Draco shed his police clothes and crawled into his bed, ignoring the fact that his sweat-soaked under-clothes were still on and that hiding under his comforter would make him sweat. Draco ignored it all because he suddenly felt cold. The window opposite his bed was open, allowing a breeze to drift in and surround his shaking body.

He heard the almost forgotten sound of rain starting to patter on his windowsill. The storm had finally broken through this long week of heat.

It had begun to rain.


	4. Chapter 3 Updated

**Chapter 3 Updated**

**I had forgotten how much I like this chapter and Hermione's speech at the end to Willy McGuire. Damn, she's a force to be reckoned with.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – Friday, August 19th, 8:51 p.m.<p>

...

A hand was violently shaking Hermione out of a stupor. _Was I taking a nap?_ She briefly wondered to herself. _Was I…no…I was on my way back from the office. Yes. I was. Timmy?_

"Ma'am? Ma'am please wake up. We have to move, now!"

"Timmy?" Hermione groaned in pain. She had a headache. _No, that wasn't his voice._

"No ma'am, it's Wes. We gotta get you outta here, now."

Hermione blinked and looked up at Wes as her vision cleared. The air was smoky around her Number Four. Hermione abruptly sat up. _Why am I on the ground?_

"Where's Timmy?" She asked, heaving herself to her feet with a large amount of help from Wes. She didn't know why locating her Number One was so urgent in her mind, but for some reason, it was. Looking around, Hermione gasped and clung to Wes in horrid realization.

"Timmy's dead, isn't he?" Hermione asked, mind in a tumult but somehow voice coming out steady and quiet.

Wes remained quiet. His silence was all the witch needed to confirm her suspicions. An overwhelming urge to cry washed over her but eight years climbing the ladder at the Ministry forced her to push it aside. _Crying can come later._

Wes half-helped her walk, half-carried her over to a large black Mercedes that had a very dirty and scraped up looking Numbers Two and Three. "Oh, Bev, Carl," Hermione sighed when she saw them. They ignored her concern and followed protocol.

Carl took over for Wes and allowed the driver to move toward the driver's entrance. "She's unhurt?"

Wes nodded. "I think a little memory loss, but it's comin' back." Bev opened the door for Carl to essentially shove his boss in the back of the Benz.

"Stay here," Carl stated firmly to the woman as he buckled her into the seat. "Bev and Wes will wait with you, I'll be right back." Carl gave her a last look, presumably to reinforce the "stay put" order, and Hermione heard him instruct Bev to watch her through the just closed door.

She ached all over and wasn't going anywhere at the moment. Hermione let her head fall back against the seat rest and she closed her eyes. _What had just happened? Timmy, dead?_ Hermione frowned against the pain of her head and the trickle of memories coming back. Her eyes flew open as she remembered in full.

They had arrived at the safe house as expected. What they hadn't expected was the ambush. Apparently whoever was targeting Hermione had known to set up a fake threat against her at her house and then to come here instead. Someone knew that this was a decision she was likely to make.

Wes had pulled the car into the lot after smiling and briefly chatting with the MDP security guard at the gate. All was normal, the guard had reported, a quiet night with no stirrings besides the staff being warned that Hermione was on her way to take shelter here for the night with her team while a threat was sorted out elsewhere.

Then…gunshots. No. Then they had gotten out of the car. Timothy walking close to her as if he knew of his demise…no he couldn't possibly have known. He had just been close to her because she had been feeling down in the car, he always knew her moods and when she wanted someone close.

Then the gunfire. It was the distinct noise of a Transi-force handgun, the simplest of the wizard-muggle tech that had leaked out into the black market. Her bodyguards all carried one. It was a weapon made for distraction, wounding mostly. When she had co-created the idea for wizard guns, Hermione had flat out refused to issue in mass quantity handguns that resembled the muggle's too closely. No, the handguns in her arsenal wouldn't be that violent. Just enough to compensate for not having a wand after approved Magic Hours.

The perpetrators that had begun firing at her group were distracting them, she had realized. That was why her Numbers hadn't collapsed her to the ground yet; they had still been moving her to the goal of the safe house entrance. They had known that these shooters couldn't hit her at their distance, and they knew they couldn't hit them back.

"Get her to the doors!" Carl had bellowed. "They won't hit us with that tech! They'll need something bigger!" Hermione had looked at his face when his tone changed from confident and in charge to suddenly terrified. The shooters had clearly found something bigger.

"Get down!" Someone had screamed. Hermione had felt Timothy shove her to the pavement. A blast exploded behind them, taking Carl down right beside Hermione. She held in her scream of terror, she had seen Carl move, he wasn't dead. She looked around as much as she could with her face pressed against the ground and could see Wes and Bev flanking out in a mini-perimeter around her and someone was standing directly over her. "Timmy?" Hermione had asked. _Merlin damn it, I feel so helpless without a wand._

"Shush," his voice had demanded from above her. "Otter's Number One requesting immediate back-up at safe house location Albus. Repeat under attack at safe house Albus. Requesting immediate back up. This is Otter's Number-"

Bev's scream had cut him off. "Timothy!" Hermione hadn't known what kind of weapon the masked man behind a row of bushes had over his shoulder, but whatever it was, it was huge and it was aimed at her.

Timothy had grabbed her and had thrown her, a feat she hadn't known capable of a human without magic. Their eyes locked for an impossible second before the green blast hit Timothy Terrance square in the back and exploded him out of existence.

Hermione couldn't remember anything else and she assumed that she hadn't been thrown far enough out of range of the mini-bomb to not lift her already flying body farther across the concrete and slam her into the ground where she had just woken up to Wes shaking her unconscious form.

Sitting in the back of the car, Hermione felt a twinge in her arm that mimicked the twinge in her heart. Looking down she saw it was a piece of purple metal embedded at the end of a long gash in her arm. With a start, she realized that this was part of Timothy's Ministry DP identification tags. She jerked her head up when she heard a noise. She hadn't realized before how many other Ministry cars and personnel were milling about the scene.

A scuffle at the center of the activity caught her attention. Squinting, Hermione realized what was happening and her eyes widened. Mind made up, the woman stole away out the other side of the car during a moment when both Bev and Wes were being questioned. Walking discreetly towards the scuffle, Hermione announced herself only when she asked who the man was.

The MDP officer responsible for cuffing and arresting the man jumped and spun when Hermione had spoken. When the arrestee felt the shift in attention away from him, he had squirmed to try and escape off the hood of the car over which he was bent. The movement had rewarded him with a sharp elbow to the spine from the arresting officer. The breath was knocked from the perpetrators lungs and, for a moment, he was still.

"Willy McGuire, ma'am, a known domestic terrorist and a loud opponent to you and to the Shacklebolt administration. Arrested on improper use of magic, attempted murder, murder, and possession of illegal Transi-force."

Hermione nodded, but this new information didn't make her feel any better. She stepped forward only to be blocked by one of the many observing MDP officers. "Excuse me, ma'am," one of them apologized. "This man is charged with the attempt to take your life. You cannot get closer."

Hermione glared at the man. "You are so far my subordinate I hardly want to waste time embarrassing you. I remember the face of Voldemort and you deny me access to this _worm_? Get out of my way." The man stepped aside, cheeks red. Hermione rounded the corner of the car's hood to stand where she could see this man. She leaned in close, studying his face. His eyes were wild, his nose running, hair matted and sweaty, but his mouth was set in a dead smile.

"Hello, Alderman," he said. His voice wasn't unpleasant, as Hermione was expecting it to be. It was velvety soft, but uneducated. "Did you like my surprise?"

She smiled without mirth. "I would thank you, but you disrupted my evening. Why did you do this?" McGuire licked his lips and glanced around. Hermione snorted. "You're already fucked, so you might as well tell me."

The man grinned at her use of the muggle swear. "A true Mud Jumper, eh? Using their vocabulary and everything? To bad I couldn't end that for you."

Hermione ignored the slight on her political stance. She had been called much worse. "Why did you do this?" She repeated.

McGuire spit on the hood of the car in front of her. "I can't stand you, your policies or the way that you're running wizard society. Go back to the swamp where you belong, Muddy bitch!" The arresting officer let his elbow hit McGuire's spine again, knocking the dirty man back down onto the car with a pop of metal as the hood buckled under the weight.

"Apologize!" The officer demanded.

Hermione waved him off. "It's alright, he's just an animal backed into a corner. There's no where for him to go, so he's insulting me, as if that could save him." She squinted back down into the murderers eyes. "As if you could be saved."

McGuire nodded. "That's what you would think, eh? Everyone can be saved but those who break your precious little rules."

Hermione stood up in a brisk manner. "Murder is against the laws of nature, Mr. McGuire, which I certainly did not invent. Take him away. You will send me the entirety of his recorded interrogation when it is concluded." The officer nodded and hauled the criminal up off the hood.

"Wait!" McGuire screamed, beautiful voice cracking. "I killed your precious Number One!"

Hermione didn't turn. "This is not news to me, Mr. McGuire. I was there, after all."

"He'd still be alive today if you hadn't invented this tech, forced the Magic Suppressant Laws on us and ruined our lives! He would have been able to easily use his wand in self-defense!" McGuire was writhing in the arms of his captor.

Hermione whirled. "Another fact of which I am well aware of, Mr. McGuire. But do not pretend for one instant that you had anything to do with his unfortunate twist of fate. You did not come here tonight with the aim to drive me into psychological self-torture." Hermione walked back over to the man.

"You came here to murder me and me alone. Do not even begin to think you may elevate yourself to the criminal mastery that states you had Mr. Terrance's death in mind the whole time. That was not your original aim so do not yell half-formed ideas at me in hopes of cracking my control to end your life right here, right now, so that you may not have to go through the experience of our rigorous incarceration system, just another one of those little laws that I pushed through during the Reformation." She was in McGuire's face now, speaking in a hard voice, but one that carried as well as a shout. The entire MDP force was staring at her.

"Oh yes, Mr. McGuire. You have done your research, haven't you? All that time spent searching for reasons to hate me and the Shacklebolt administration, I'm sure you came across a paragraph or two on our prison system? By the horrid look on your ugly face, I'd say that I'm correct in this assumption. You know what we do there, don't you? Yes, Mr. McGuire, the problem with people like you is that you reject everything that my administration has done except for the changes made to our penitentiaries. You _like_ the changes we have made there because you are a violent people who think they are untouchable and, as such, will never have to experience the horrors in our jails." The furious witch pulled close to the man now, face sticking into his to get her point across.

"I can promise you this, Mr. McGuire, as a _Ministry official_: you will go to prison and on this point and on this point only I will agree with you that the old ways were better." McGuire's eyes widened at Hermione's statement.

"A Dementor's kiss would be better than what you are about to experience, but I am very happy, so very happy that I am a part of the administration that changed the way we treat our convicts so that you may experience incarceration in our new way. Go rot in Azkaban, you spineless bastard. Go fucking rot and _think_ about what you've done." Hermione straightened, ignoring the looks of the MDP. If she met anyone's eyes she was sure that she would collapse, as she felt just as astonished as, she was sure, they looked.

"Take this god dammed piece of shit out of my sight," Hermione ordered to the speechless group in front of her.

As the collected scrambled to obey her orders, Hermione turned and found herself being supported around her shoulders by the warm arm of Carl. Thankful for his support, she allowed herself to lean into the big man and to be escorted back to the Escalade. "I'm tired, Carl," Hermione said in a small voice. She climbed into the car and looked back at the man before he shut the door. "Take me home please. Do you know where that is?"

Carl nodded, concern etched into his face. "Wes will bring you there straight away, ma'am." He shut the door.

"Good," Hermione quietly said to herself. "Home is good." She was about to fall sleep in the back of the Ministry car when she heard the pattering of rain starting to fall on the roof of the car. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to cry along with the droplets falling from the clouds.


	5. Chapter 4 Updated

**Chapter 4 Updated**

**I believe that this was my shortest chapter ever, but I liked it, and it sets up the premise for Draco to come into the picture...and we all want that.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 4 – Wednesday, September 7th, 10:33 a.m.<p>

...

The door to Hermione's office opened at her invitation. Hermione smiled when she saw it was Carl, her new Number One. "Come in, Carl, I was just…what is it?" She asked as soon as she saw his face. He looked almost…_uncomfortable_.

"Ma'am, I was hoping to discuss with you the hiring of another Number? Policy dictates that you must have four at all times and the two week deadline has already passed…" Carl trailed off, obviously distressed by making his boss remember the accident.

Hermione controlled her facial emotions by looking down at her left fore arm where a long, pale scar remained, a reminder of the one she lost. Tracing it with the tip of her finger, Hermione stalled for time. _Had it really only been three weeks since Timmy died? _Carl eventually coughed, forcing the woman to make a decision.

She jerked her head up. "Blaise put you up to this, didn't he?" She asked, deflecting.

Carl winced. "Chancellor Zabini did leave a message the other day. He's already let you go past the two-week deadline out of deference to your feelings and obviously because of your professional relationship. Remember, ma'am, regulation states that you do need four bodyguards at all times-"

Hermione stood up suddenly, cutting her Number One off. "Well whose fucking idea was that?" She demanded at a yell. "That's absolutely absurd!" Carl looked uncomfortable again. "What?" Hermione asked, annoyed.

"That regulation was actually your idea, on the bill on Ministry Official Safety Protocol on the section discussing security practice for high-ranking officials. Ma'am," Carl added as almost an afterthought.

Hermione sat down embarrassed. "I do not need _four_ guards," she mumbled.

Carl stood in silence. _He_ certainly wasn't going to add his two cents, especially not at this moment. "I killed him, didn't I, Carl? It _was _my fault. All these stupid laws and rules I've created…"

Carl stiffened unsure of how to react at her statement. He wished Timothy were here to help. The boy would have known what to do, how to handle this situation. Carl was meant for action, not words. "Ma'am, I don't really know what to say, but I do know this: that McGuire man was wrong. You, and many, many others created those laws, the rules that run our lives now." Carl hastened on when he saw tears bud in the corners of Hermione's eyes. "That's not a bad thing, ma'am. We need those rules to live. Chaos and grey areas are not what this country needs right now."

"Even eight years later?" Hermione asked, sounding a little like a child.

Carl hesitated. He thought that the Ministry could give the people a little more freedom, but personal politics weren't up for discussion with a boss heavily invested in the field. "Even eight years later, ma'am." He hoped he sounded convincing. He was rewarded with a watery smile.

"Alright, Carl, alright." Hermione took a deep breath to clear her emotions. "What do I have to do about this replacement?" Hermione kept her eyes from overflowing again by keeping her hands busy with papers.

"It's being handled for you by Chancellor Zabini as we speak, ma'am." Carl saw his boss frown.

"So, you asking me was just a formality?"

Carl loved how smart she was. "Yes and no, ma'am. I didn't want you to be caught unawares when the paperwork was brought in." Hermione nodded at this. "You'll have to interview the final choice, but the preliminary stages will be handled by your staff." Hermione nodded again and Carl continued. "Chancellor Zabini also wanted me to mention to you that because of the Shortage and recession, you carrying on with your life and responsibilities would help the morale of the people."

Hermione abruptly leaned back in her chair and swiveled it to face the glass window overlooking central London. She stared out at her city, reflecting in silence for a moment. "Fuck the Shortage, Carl. Fuck this world I've created. I feel like such an idiot. As if I should have seen this coming."

Carl shifted in his spot for the third time that day. He didn't know what to say but he thought her tone didn't really require an answer or that she didn't expect one. After a while, Hermione waved her hand at her Number One. "Thank you Carl, that is all. Please inform me when you have a candidate."

Carl nodded and ducked out of the office. Hermione was left alone with her thoughts, as she had been so often the past eight years of her life.


	6. Chapter 5 Updated

**Chapter 5 Updated**

**Things are movin' along now!**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 5 – Wednesday, September 7th, 11:10 a.m.<p>

...

There was a knock at Draco's door. The sound startled the blonde, causing his hand to slip and cut himself with his shaver. "Shit," Draco swore to himself, quickly washing the cut and hastily finishing the job. "Hold on!" he called to the door. He rinsed his face completely and grabbed a washcloth to dab at this cut as he hurried to the door. Opening it, Draco was suddenly very aware of just how shirtless he was.

Blaise Zabini stood in his doorway flanked by two official looking men. Draco flinched expecting the pain of being too close to magic before he realized that Blaise visiting him was probably a Ministry sanctioned event. If they sought him out, Draco remembered from the rules, there would be no punishment.

"The fuck do you want?" Draco asked callously. Blaise held out his wand and muttered a spell. Draco felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he felt the Ministry's exile tracking spell leave his body. He hadn't felt so light in years, he was screaming with joy on the inside. This was as close as he had been to his old life in eight years excepting for the explosion almost three weeks ago.

Blaise snorted. "Very nice, Draco, great manners. We leave you alone for, what, seven years and you turn into a complete savage. "

"Eight," Draco growled. "And my name is Dan Collins now, or don't you remember?"

"Whatever," drawled Blaise. "Aren't you going to let me in?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "It depends. What do you want?"

"Why don't you let me in and we can discuss it?" Same old Zabini, always the diplomat. _And now_, Draco thought abruptly as he studied his one-time friend,_ he even looks the part_. The blonde grunted and moved aside as an invitation. Blaise moved into Draco's flat with one of his henchmen sweeping through Draco's tiny living space, apparently conducting a perimeter. Draco recognized police training when he saw it. The other guard remained in the hallway, posted just outside the door leaving it ajar in case of trouble. Draco was mildly impressed.

"So what brings you to the humble muggle world, Blaise? I'd have had to drag you here if we were boys." Draco acted as if he was in control, but really he was tense and confused and he desperately wanted answers.

Blaise ignored this comment. "Draco, as you know your ten year case review is coming up…"

Draco tugged on a black t-shirt that had been draped over a chair. "Yeah, in two years," he interrupted, annoyed. Had his old friend shown up here just to taunt him?

Blaise looked as if he wasn't used to being interrupted. Then again, Draco could remember him always having this haughty look and didn't think twice of it. "As I was _saying_," the black man continued, picking a seat in Draco's living room and relaxing into a cracked leather chair. "Your review is in two years but I am here to present you with a unique opportunity for personal growth and a chance for you to redeem yourself. I also offer you an opening to help your case-review in the future, and maybe even speed it up it's coming."

Draco stared at his friend. The serious looking guard was finished circling Draco's small apartment and was now situated at Blaise's back, hands clasped in front of his person as if ready to grab a concealed weapon. "Dude," Draco snorted finally, using the muggle phrase he had picked up. "Why are you acting like this? Talking like a douche and dressed like royalty with a personal security detail?" Draco briefly saw the two professional looking men exchange glances across the apartment and through his open door.

Blaise sighed. "Why don't you sit down, Draco. A lot has changed in our world since you left it. Sit down and I can explain it to you."

Draco didn't like his tone. Blaise was talking _down_ to him, more so than he ever had in school. Draco knew that he _was_ in exile, but this was different. Something was different. The blonde squinted at his friend, to the guards and back to Blaise. "You're important in our world now, aren't you? What are you…are you _in_ the Ministry?"

Blaise sighed and closed his eyes. "Blaise, the fucking _Ministry_?" Draco moved to his window, leaning against the wall and slowly flipping back a corner of his curtains and glancing down. Sure enough, there was a dark car down on the curb outside his apartment building with another well-dressed security guard standing outside the vehicle. Draco would bet anything that there was another one at the wheel. "_Fuck_," he exhaled. "How important are you? You're not…the Minister?"

Draco heard Blaise chuckle and he turned back to his former friend. "I occupy a major position in the Shacklebolt administration, yes, but that is not what I came to discuss. I came to discuss you, Draco, and your possible early reinstatement back into the magical community."

Draco froze at these words and he felt as woozy as he had the day of the explosion. Blaise smiled lightly. "Sit, Draco, and let's talk." The tall blonde found himself swaying over to a seat across from Blaise and situating himself in it as if in a dream.

"There is a need for you to fulfill a position as a Number, like my own you see here." Noticing Draco's confusion, Blaise went on to clarify. "A Number is the name of a bodyguard linked to a Ministry official. They even have ranks, a scale on which they may be promoted or demoted. You may compare it to your status as a Detective Sergeant when you were once a simple Constable."

"You're keeping _tabs_ on me?" Draco demanded.

Blaise gave Draco a look. "Please, Draco." The blonde closed his mouth.

"As I was saying," Blaise continued. "This is my bodyguard Number One. Henri here is my personal match that I hand selected to protect my life and manage my safety on a daily basis. This situation is beneficial for both parties, I may add. Not only am I protected, but a Number receives a hearty salary, the best possible housing, and of course a very secure retirement package to be collected at the end of his or her term."

"Yes, there are a set number of years that a Number serves according to their rank. For example, Henri here has more time to serve than Mark over there in the hall since Henri is a One and therefore closer to me. But being a Number for an official does not denote a connection or a friendship at all, in fact we could very well hate each other," Zabini smiled up at Henri who grinned back as if they shared a private joke.

"The rank of a Number is considered very prestigious within the MDP and our society at the moment, a position worthy of only the most committed MDP officers. It is similar choice one makes when considering the muggle monkhood. It is a voluntary commitment, a lifestyle that some describe as being 'born into'."

Draco looked from Blaise's face to his apparent "Number". "So…are you guys like gay or something?"

Blaise slammed the arm of the chair in which he was sitting. "Merlin's Beard Draco!" the man shouted. "I am offering you a _chance_: An opportunity to prove yourself and gain entrance back into our world, a world in which you so obviously belong. I mean look at you! Pathetic, you're practically drooling just thinking about the word 'magic'."

Draco stood up and wiped his face again with the washcloth that was still in his hand. Hiding behind the cloth for a moment relaxed the blonde. He threw the cloth into the bathroom where it landed satisfactorily on the edge of the sink. "So, what would I have to do to become a 'Number'?"

Blaise looked pained for a brief moment, but then smiled lightly. "That part's easy. We already know with whom you would work well and then you just do what you've been doing for the past three years of your life. Be a police officer. You wouldn't need training at the MDPA, the Ministry Defense and Peacekeeping Academy," Blaise ignored the snort from Draco. "Since you've been so well trained in the muggle world. According to regulation, however you will have to attend a six-month long course at the Academy on Number etiquette and proper guidelines of how Numbers operate. Plus, your natural reflexes and keen mind make you an excellent candidate for immediate placement."

_ Placement_. Thought Draco with vehemence. _He makes me sound as if I'm an orphan being placed in foster care._ "Do you magic folk still have Aurors?" Draco asked the question that had been bugging him since Blaise's mention of a PDA or whatever it was called.

"Of course, they are a part of a specialized branch of the MDP. We combined Aurors into the organization at its inception almost over six years ago. The MDP is a proud beacon of structure supported by the Shacklebolt administration created to help bring order from-"

"Shut up, Blaise. You sound like a fucking advertisement."

Blaise closed his mouth, unperturbed. If he remembered anything of his friend, it was that Draco liked having his own time to process information. Blaise took the time to glance around the small apartment, trying to guess what it must have been like for his friend these eight long years. He didn't see much, there were no decorations on the plain, white walls and the kitchen looked bare from his vantage point. Blaise tried not to count the number of bottles of various alcohols scattered around the flat.

Draco paced. He didn't like the idea of a set number of years of service for a…"Number", but then again, it couldn't be worse than waiting another two years just to maybe be reinstated into the world of magic. "How likely would it be for me to be officially reinstated as a full citizen with rights in two years if I choose this path?" Draco held his breath for the answer.

"I can promise you that your case will be favorably reviewed within the year."

Draco's ears buzzed. "Shit, this dude I have to protect must be pretty important, huh?"

Blaise smiled oddly as Henri shifted his weight. _Am I missing something?_ Draco thought. "_She_ is very important, yes," Blaise finally added. _Ah, it was a chick_. "Do we have an accord?" Blaise asked the blonde.

"Yes, do I have to fill out any paperwork? What about my old job and my life as Dan Collins?"

Blaise got up out of the chair and dusted off his pants. "I already submitted your application, I had a feeling I would convince you." Draco crossed his arms, pissed at the assumption, but he knew his old friend was right. He had been ready to do anything to get back to the magical world. "And don't worry about the muggles. There is a team at work on it already, drafting up a story to put in place."

Draco frowned. "Why not just use the Obliviation Charm on them?" he asked.

Blaise's Number One stifled a laugh. "What's up there, Chuckles?" Draco asked, bristling.

Blaise sighed at his former friend's candor. "Like I mentioned earlier, Draco, a lot has changed in our world. There is a Shortage of Magic going on and…"

"I'm sorry, a what?" Draco was astounded. It sounded made up.

"After the war, pockets of Dark Magic were left all around our country, unbeknownst to us." Draco nodded; he knew this. This was probably the last piece of news he heard about before his exile. "Well, left unattended, these pockets grew until they 'burst' wreaking havoc on our society by sucking our magic straight out of the air and causing it to disappear forever. Similar to an EMP in the muggle world."

"Blaise, I am a wizard, if only and ex-one. You don't have to treat me like a muggle, I remember how things work."

"Right, I apologize. Anyway, this effect is longer lasting than my muggle example. In short, these Dark Pockets drained away most of our magical abilities, wizard and creature alike. Some clans were even left completely magic-less. We have reports of a herd of centaurs as becoming more horse-like before they vanished completely. Things like that."

Draco was horrified. "What happened then?"

"We began feeling the effects a little later than the magical creature community, but soon wands started acting up and people had to strain to create magic. Several older wizards died trying to cast a simple spell. The Ministry rushed to study this phenomena and it was concluded that the performance of magic becoming harder and harder to conduct. Not only that, but that if a large and complicated spell were to be cast, than magic from the surrounding areas would be drained in order for the complicated spell to be completed never to be returned."

"Did these pockets of Darkness make magic _conditional_?" Draco asked softly. Blaise nodded in answer, appreciating Draco's quick wit. "So that means if I lit a fire near St. Mungo's or something, the magic healing would be interrupted so it could be used for my spell?" Blaise nodded again.

"Not only that but after the spell is cast, the magic would be totally gone. It's like we have an allowance, an allowance that can be used up." Blaise looked tired.

Draco was wide-eyed, uncertain of how to handle this. "Well, fuck. That's not good at all. What's been done to combat this?"

"With the eventual dissipation of some of the smaller Dark Pockets, the Shortage has eased up, but our community has had to cut way back on our reliance upon magic. With the help of many Ministry officials and employees, new laws have been passed to only allow spell casting during certain hours of the day and in certain areas as to not effect places such as hospitals, as you already figured out. We've also started using more and more muggle items to help ease the routine of daily life without magic. This doesn't change your decision does it?"

There was a silence in Draco's flat as the blonde thought about what this entailed. He had dreamed of the day he would be let back into his true society, to the magical community. But he was to be let back into a half-world, a place where magic existed not as an unlimited and unquestioned source, but as a limited, rationed thing. He hadn't expected this at all.

"Draco, do we still have a deal?" Blaise asked quietly, knowing what thoughts ran through the blonde man's head. Draco rubbed the back of his neck, thinking hard. He felt odd, leaving his muggle life behind, an eight-year investment. He had thought he was used to it until Blaise had promised a review of his case in a year. Besides...magic was waiting, even what little of it was left, and maybe some answers for him about his dirty trial.

"Of course," he said after a moment. To Draco, even limited magic was better than no magic at all.

Blaise exhaled sharply. He hadn't known he was holding his breath. "Excellent. Mark, make the call please." Draco heard the Number Two in the hallway start to quietly speak into something. Blaise turned back to Draco, holding out his hand. "Good to see you mate."

"You as well, Blaise." The two men shook hands.

"I'm glad we could do business, Draco. I did miss you, you know. It will be nice seeing you around again."

Draco snorted. "You'll probably be the only one going to be thrilled about it."

Blaise decided to ignore that comment. He would deal with any problems as they came up. No need to worry about them at the moment. "You'll be hearing from me soon, Draco."

"Good. Now get out of my flat before I punch you in the face for talking like such a little bitch."


	7. Chapter 6 Updated

**Chapter 6 Updated**

**Not to toot my own horn too much, but I really like this chapter too, especially at the end with Ron and Harry and Ginny. I tried really hard to make their personalities as canon as possible, even though they are a bit older. Some bigger changes in this chapter, just adding in more details or editing out the stuff that doesn't matter.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 6 – Wednesday, September 14th, 1:45 p.m.<p>

...

"So soon?" Hermione was saying to her Number One less than a week after their previous discussion about hiring another bodyguard. "Blaise must have had one in mind."

"He did, ma'am," Carl said as delicately as he could. "It just took a bit to process all the paperwork."

Hermione leaned back and stretched in her chair behind her desk. "Fine," she sighed. "Have you at least reviewed the candidates?"

"I have, ma'am."

"And…?"

"And the three I narrowed it down to are very capable and very highly sought after." Carl hesitated.

"But?" Hermione prompted again.

"There is one candidate that Chancellor Zabini himself is pushing through. I reviewed his application yesterday and, when comparing it to the other three, his just stands out."

The witch frowned, clasping her hands together on her desk, pressing her thumbs together. "Then what's the problem?"

Carl was silent for a moment. "It isn't really my place to say, ma'am, I don't really know the whole story. Chancellor Zabini assured me that you would come around to his choice and see where he was coming from when he made this decision."

"What are you talking about? What's with all the mystery?" Hermione was confused and didn't like the way this was heading. "Carl, tell me this instant what is going on."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it really isn't my place. This decision was his alone, and Chancellor Zabini stressed that point so I'm assuming he probably doesn't want me to say anymore on the subject. Here's the file and I'll send the applicant in." Carl crossed to Hermione's desk, fairly throwing down a manila file.

Hermione spluttered. "Wait, the subject is here, now? Carl!" But her Number One had already hustled out of the office. Staring incredulously at her door, Hermione heard Carl speak to someone outside. Her door clicked open again and Carl peeked in. "He's ready to see you now, ma'am. Shall I send him in?"

Hermione was flabbergasted. "By all means, do." The Alderman looked down at the file for the first time shaking her head at the strange behavior of her bodyguard. She heard someone enter and the door shut behind as Carl exited once more.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," drawled an all too familiar voice from the doorway.

Hermione froze when she heard the voice at the exact moment when she had read the name on the top of the application. "Carl!" she yelled immediately. "I refuse this applicant for now and all time!"

"Thank Merlin for that," Draco Malfoy stated as he turned on his heels to leave. Before he could reach the door, it sprung open surprising both him and Hermione. Three figures strode in, almost knocking Draco down.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Carl's voice called after the men. "I tried to stop them but they-"

Carl was cut off by one of Blaise Zabini's Numbers shutting Hermione's office door in his face. Standing up from her desk, Hermione was exasperated. "Is my office the new MDPA hostage strategy training room? I have had more people coming in and out of here today… What's going on Blaise? And what, for the love of Merlin, is _he_ doing here?"

"I got the message that Draco was en route to interview with you today when I clearly told both your Number One and Draco _not _to have him personally interview with you until our meeting tomorrow." Blaise strode to the center of the room and extended a dark hand to Hermione's open date book on her desk. She didn't bother glancing down. She remembered writing in his name yesterday morning when Carl had told her of the planned meeting. What she had no idea was what the meeting would be about. Now knowing what it was, she felt slightly ill.

"I wanted to be here for this little…_reunion_ so that I may better convince you two of the merits of this situation." Blaise ignored Draco's snort of disapproval.

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the curls away for a moment before they fell right back to where they had originally lain. "I'm excited to hear your argument on this one, Blaise. I know your powers of persuasion are excellent, but I'm afraid that in this _situation_ actual magic may be required." She didn't like feeling out of control. Able to count on one hand the times she had felt trapped in the last eight years, she tried to avoid the feeling as best she could. This clearly wasn't going to be one of those times.

"It's a good thing then, that we are right in the middle of Approved Magic Hours." Blaise's smile twisted as he turned his attention to the blonde ex-wizard trying to sneak out of the room. "Draco, come here. Don't be so immature."

Draco scowled but moved to stand next to his old friend. Glaring at the woman standing behind the desk he said quietly to Blaise; "You couldn't have warned me?"

"And risked you not coming at all without making a scene? No, I'm afraid this was best. Although if you had shown up on the right _date_ I could have made the surprise of this encounter gone over exponentially smoother."

Hermione," Blaise turned to address his colleague. "I submit to you your new candidate for your bodyguard Number Four. As you can see from his file, Draco is exceptionally well qualified and deserving of this job. Do you accept his application?"

"Absolutely not," responded Hermione.

"Excellent! Draco, you will start tomorrow." Blaise clapped his hands together finalizing the transaction.

Hermione spluttered. "Blaise, you can not possibly-"

"What Hermione? Cannot possibly…what? Demand that you adhere to protocol that you yourself wrote? Want that you be protected to the best of the Ministry's ability? Need to see and old friend back in the life he deserves so he won't disappear into the shell of a man like his father?" Draco did his best to remain stoic and not wince at Blaise's words, but Hermione noted the action.

She had heard about Lucius Malfoy's demise in his exile alongside his wife six years ago. The Malfoy's had died an extremely premature death in their flat in the center of muggle London. No one mourned the tragedy, not even their missing son who hadn't shown up to claim the bodies. What Hermione and no one else knew was just how forbidden Draco had been on seeing his deceased parents.

Nothing mattered to her at the moment, even if she had learned of this fact. There would be no way that Malfoy, _Draco_ Malfoy would ever stand in such a valued position that the likes of Timothy Terrence once occupied. She turned and walked furiously out from behind her desk, slightly stiffed legged in anger. "_Chancellor_ Zabini, sir," Hermione said through clenched teeth. She was furious, cornered and she had lost any inhibition of arguing with her superior. "The unpardonable crimes this man has committed have been voted on by a jury of his peers and he is sentenced to a ten year exile, two years of which I believe have yet to be carried out. _Protocol,_ it would seem, escapes your mind as well."

Blaise sighed. "I had hoped it would not come to this." Blaise stated, drawing himself up and bringing with him a sizzle of charismatic electricity he had learned to harness as Chancellor for the Ministry. It came with the job, and was deemed important enough for use even outside of magic hours by MOM. Extra magic supplied for the Chancellor and Minister of Magic had been a standard for the past two years, ever since another small Dark Pocket vanished.

This decision was made after one of the deadliest Repercussion Threats the new administration had ever seen occurred two years ago. It wasn't complicated magic, but it was uncanny to bear the brunt of it. Hermione told herself that she had faced much worse and she would not let this wizard best her. She saw Draco stiffen out of the corner of her eye and was glad to see his hunched shoulders: he too felt the power. Carl had rushed into the room, clearly feeling the surge, but he stopped when he realized that it was Blaise using his Chancellor magic.

"You will not only accept Draco Malfoy as your bodyguard Number Four, but you will treat him as such: with every respect a person in the position deserves until his one year review case file reaches my desk next September. During this year, I will not hear complaints from either party." Blaise's hot gaze rested on both his old schoolmates before settling back on Hermione.

She quickly looked at Carl before crossing her arms. His presence made her feel brave. "I will not." She stubbornly stuck out her chin.

"Alderman Granger," Blaise's voice suddenly boomed out, causing Hermione to step back and hold onto the edge of her desk for support. The extra Ministry provided power burst into a torrent of electric energy snapping around Blaise's person. The man radiated magic. Looking around, Hermione noticed that no one else in the room seemed to be affected by this change in Blaise, or even notice it at all. It was as if he possessed too much magic_._ She felt dizzy, her stomach churned, but Blaise continued to speak, distracting her.

"The immense shame that I, and my department, will make you feel is something that we both would like to avoid. Your job is on the line here, and you know what resources I have for making your life miserable." The lights in the room had dimmed slightly. It wasn't the lights, Hermione realized with a start. It was the shadows that seemed to have lengthened, coating the room a dull grey, sinister looking shapes creeping up the walls.

Blaise held her gaze for a moment longer, his eyes heavy on hers, as if he were trying to convince her of something. She was starting to feel sick. Right before Hermione was convinced that she was about to throw up, the shadows disappeared and the feeling was gone. Blaise continued to look at her, but this time without the extra pressure. She was forced to look at the floor, blushing; embarrassed that Carl, Draco Malfoy, and Blaise's two Numbers were there to witness this. She felt scolded, like a child, and it was all she could do from sticking her bottom lip out and crying. _Why do I feel this way?_

"And Draco," Blaise said, turning to the man in full. He wasn't as tall as Draco, but he was imposing. Hermione hardly heard his voice, it sounded as if it were far away. "You know what would happen should you fail." The blonde met the dark man's gaze steadily for a moment, before wavering and dropping to the floor. The Chancellor turned again and walked back to Hermione, lowering his voice connecting with her in a private moment, as if to sooth her discomfort. "Hermione, do you see that this is for the best?"

_Did he use magic on me? I don't remember…_Hermione frowned, still embarrassed and confused from Blaise's threat. "Why does it have to be him, Blaise?" She still felt a little dizzy. She tried to shake her head to clear the feeling.

The tall, dark man sighed. "There is no one else I would trust to be close to you and to protect you. He is very qualified, and in a situation similar to what you've just gone through, he would keep you safe."

Draco's eyebrows rose. He tried to peer around Blaise's body to see what he was doing to the Granger woman, and his ears strained to hear what he said but he couldn't.

"I understand but I don't like it. You know what he's done." Hermione's voice was soft, pitched deeper so no one else in the room could hear it. She watched her boss, trying to appeal to his memory of the boy Draco Malfoy once was but she couldn't read his gaze. Blaise Zabini's eyes were dark, almost black, and clouded with an emotion that frightened Hermione although she couldn't put a name to it. He moved forward, overpowering Hermione's sense of space.

Looking up at him, Hermione realized just how tall and powerful Blaise was. She started to move away, to put a proper distance between them again when Blaise reached up with one hand and almost tucked a curl out of her face, behind her ear. Instead, he stopped, his hand still hovering near her hair before it dropped to the floor.

"Do not disappoint me." Blaise looked at Hermione once more and she inhaled sharply at the intensity of his gaze. He then turned and spoke to the rest of the room. "I will conduct an early reassessment of this situation in 90 days just to be sure." And with that, Blaise Zabini swept out of the room accompanied by his two Numbers.

Silence was left stretching between Hermione and her new Number Four. _What the hell was that about?_ She asked herself, trying to calm her quickly beating heart. Carl moved instantly to her side. "Ma'am?" he questioned, worried.

"Did you feel that, Carl? What he did?" Hermione tried to catch the memory, but it was as slippery as a dream. "The magic…it was so powerful…"

Carl was slightly alarmed. "Did what, ma'am? There was no magic besides the normal Chancellor stuff."

"I will _not _work for a crazy person," Draco snapped from across the room, sneer on his face. Carl's weight shifted to make a move towards the man but Hermione touched his arm to hold him off.

"Thank you, Carl, that will be all." Hermione moved back behind her desk. "Make sure that he sees you for protocol training before he leaves." She noticed Carl hesitate before eventually exiting the room but leaving the door open. Sitting down, Hermione busied herself by organizing her papers that didn't really need organizing. She was stalling.

Hermione studied the man who was to be her Number Four. He stood rigidly, clearly police-trained. Only his crossed arms and clenched jaw betrayed his stress level. Hermione recognized certain features she had grown up seeing at school: the platinum blonde hair, the pale skin, high cheekbones, and steel-grey eyes. She remembered him always being impeccably dressed and coifed with an air of haughty entitlement. _He's still tall, too, at least 6' 4'', now._

What was new on Draco's personage were the dark circles under the cold grey eyes, and a bit of a tan, showing his early exile years as someone who worked outside in hard labor. His dress was still immaculate, his white cotton button down was freshly ironed and dark trousers had crisp lines. But his tie was off center, and his now almost wavy hair was disheveled. The Draco Malfoy Hermione once knew, at least in terms of his physical looks, was still there, and yet he also…_wasn't_. She had no idea what to say.

"Malfoy, I hope-"

Draco cut her off by turning on his heel and leaving the room. "I'm not your pet until Monday." Hermione could hear the man mutter as he left. He slammed the door behind him.

She had been caught off guard before. With eight years working at the Ministry, six in an incredibly advantageous political position, she was used to it. But she had handled it. There was a system for handling unexpected governmental initiatives, a system that used the help of her Numbers and other assorted staff members. But never before had Hermione been taken by suprise by a situation like this one.

A few minutes later, Carl quietly opened through her door and crept in, embarrassed. Bev, now Hermione's Number Two, followed him, looking equally sheepish. "What do you two want?" Hermione snapped, annoyed at them for no reason. They really couldn't have prevented this from happening.

"We're sorry, ma'am, but there was really nothing we could do," Bev said, approaching the desk and echoing Hermione's thoughts. "He outranks you, and while I like you better than Chancellor Zabini, protocol states…"

Hermione waved the young woman's apology away. "I know, Bev, I know. It's just that this very much came out of nowhere." Her two Numbers nodded. Hermione looked back down at Draco Malfoy's application to be her new Number Four. She shook her head, still not believing what had just happened. "What do you think? On paper he's clearly very capable, but you both interviewed him, how's his psyche? He _was_ in exile for eight years, that's enough to drive anyone up a wall."

Bev looked up at Carl, wondering who should speak first. Hermione felt her anger bubble up again. "For Merlin's sake! I am about to be forced into hiring a man that very well could be hiding deep-seated psychosis and you two choose _now_ to fall silent? Start talking, the both of you."

Bev took a breath. "No, it's not that, ma'am. He's not crazy at all. We actually were very impressed with his score on our preliminary mental and not to mention physical tests. During his exile he worked his way up the police ranks and was recently promoted to Detective Sergeant. He's…well…"

Carl finished her sentence. "He's very capable, ma'am, more so than we originally thought. He will be a welcome addition to your Number team."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Than why are you two still acting strange?"

"He's Draco Malfoy, ma'am," Bev rushed. "I mean I wasn't around when his trial happened and I went to school after you, but I've heard the stories. Are you sure you want him as your Number Four?"

Hermione smiled without humor at her Number Two. Words she could not quite remember said in Blaise's powerful voice echoed through her mind. "It's not like I have a choice, now do I?"

...

"Of course you have a choice!" Ginny Potter yelled as she slammed her fork down on the table in protest.

Harry Potter put a hand over his wife's to calm her. "Ginny, calm down."

The pregnant redhead glared at her husband. "I am calm." Then, as if sharing a private joke, Ginny relaxed into a smile and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "I hate it when you tell me that." Harry just smiled back as he gently shifted baby James back into the stroller next to the table. Hermione felt awkward.

They were having lunch at a restaurant in Diagon Alley, a tradition the trio plus Ginny kept on the second Wednesday of each month. The restaurant was taking advantage of the unusually fine weather for September, and their table was outside. It was a beautiful day but the mood of those gathered did not reflect the bright cloudless sky.

Ron rarely joined them anymore, but on this occasion he was there and he was fuming. "You two aren't just going to let this go, are you?" Ron was glaring at his sister and best friend, ears turning red. Ginny and Harry looked at him, surprised.

"Of course not, Ron, we're very worried about this situation." Harry said while absentmindedly rolling James back and forth in his stroller. The baby eventually stopped squirming, mesmerized by the motion. Harry turned to Hermione. "Is there anything I can do?"

Hermione smiled. She knew Harry would try to pull his fame out to help her. She didn't think that would help anything. "That's sweet, Harry, but it's no good. Chancellor Zabini himself gave the order. I just wanted to tell you all so you wouldn't be surprised if you saw him in Carl or Bev's position next week."

Ginny glanced around Hermione to where the woman's Number One and Two stood. The two bodyguards shifted, uncomfortable with the attention even in passing conversation. The redhead looked back at her friend, shaking her head. "I can't believe it. Why would the Ministry just let him back all of a sudden? Why would Chancellor Zabini just _let_ him back? And place him in a position so close to you?"

"Exactly!" Ron managed to splutter out. Hermione tried not to smile. She fondly remembered how angry he used to get when they were young, so flustered that he could barely utter more than one word. It would seem that he would never change.

Hermione took a sip of her lemonade. "Apparently, Blaise has nothing but good intentions behind this choice, although perhaps he is being a little biased on his selection as they were friends in school. He simply doesn't want to see Malfoy waste away like his father." She ignored a snort from Ron. "He did work in the police force for several years, and he is highly capable. He's gone through all sorts of training-"

"But not _our_ kind of training," Ron interrupted. "And everyone knows that the muggle police is a joke. Please, Hermione, can't you see that this is ridiculous?"

Harry spoke up, noticing that Hermione was getting annoyed. "Ron, the muggle police aren't _incompetent_. They do provide a valuable amount of security for the non-magical world." He leaned over the stroller to check on James. The baby was fast asleep, lulled by the motion of the stroller. Harry carefully stopped moving it.

"My dad certainly thinks the police are inept," Ron shot back. "And he's _obsessed _with muggles."

Ginny rolled her eyes and leaned across the table, cheeks flushed with the heat of the argument. "That's because Dad's an _idiot_ when it comes to actually _assessing_ muggles. And he didn't really mean that in the context you're putting it in. He meant that he thought they were bad at recognizing magical incidents. Which is what _all_ muggles are bad at. Stop being an ass."

Ron was seething, trying to calm down. Hermione was impressed that he hadn't upturned the table yet. _It's probably because of the baby, _Hermione thought. She looked over at Ginny and Harry. They looked happy, married with a beautiful baby boy and another on the way, she wondered briefly what her life would be like if she had taken that path.

Glancing quickly at Ron, she pictured herself sitting close to him, a newborn redhead cradled in her arms. Perhaps it would be a girl, named…_Lily_ _for Harry's mum, or Rose maybe. Rose is a nice name…_

Their wedding would have been beautiful, Hermione knew, with Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, and her own mother helping to decorate and plan the event out down to the very last flower. Hermione had suspected Ron of asking her to marry him two years after the War, around the same time of her promotion to Alderman at the Ministry. When she had her first suspicion that he had bought a ring, she had made one of the toughest decisions of her life, and had broken it off.

Thinking back to the choice from the present, it didn't seem so hard, but Hermione couldn't forget the hurt she had caused her best friend and once intimate lover. It had almost completely severed their friendship, now barely holding on by threads. No, her friendship with Ron was strained at best. If she could do it over again, Hermione knew she would try and mend the hurt as much as she could, but she knew that she would always choose the Ministry. This was what had almost killed Ron. The thought that the woman he loved, the best friend whom he trusted, would chose work over family. She remembered that night well, they had been having dinner; sharing food they had just made together in celebration of her promotion. The talk had eventually turned to their future and Hermione had to bite the bullet.

"It's not just a regular office job," Hermione had said in frustration to Ron when he accused her of having an ice-cold heart. "What I am doing is for the greater good."

"There is no greater good than being with the ones you love and raising a family!" Ron had shouted back, always the first to elevate an argument to a yell. "You can have a family _and_ work at the Ministry. I will support you and love you through it all! That's what this means." He had pulled out a ring box then, and angrily thrust it at Hermione as if to prove something. She had pushed away from the table then, shocked.

"What is that?"

Ron had barked out a hollow laugh. "Don't sound so horrified. You know what it is." Hermione had been afraid that he would open it, bend to one knee to try and make her change her mind out of sheer pity. But he hadn't opened it; the ring had stayed concealed in the box, enclosed in his fist. "This was at one point desirable to you. At one time you and I understood each other and what we wanted from life. But now…"

"You don't understand," Hermione had spoken quieter, trying to calm the situation down. "All the people of the wizarding community can benefit from what I have to offer. I can give millions a chance for their _own _families, I am not so selfish that I must have just one instead."

Ron had slowly retracted his arm from over the table, the ring box still clenched tightly in his palm. He had been quiet, his head bowed so Hermione couldn't see his face to read what he was thinking. He had finally spoken, in a small, quiet voice Hermione had never heard before. "And so you cannot benefit from what I have to offer you. I understand."

Ron had walked away from her flat that night and Hermione had watched him from the window, sobbing. She had known deep down that she had made the right decision but she had never felt this horrible in her life. She had no idea that she was capable of hurting someone she loved as much as she had just done to Ron Weasley.

Hermione pushed away such thoughts; she didn't want to think about how things could have been anymore. It had been six years since then, and after a year working abroad as an International Auror and without contact, Ron had returned to tell her that he wanted to move on as friends. It hadn't really worked, instead they more seemed to work around it, with Ron bouncing between flaunting women around her or being absent from her life.

On the occasions that Ron did attend get-togethers with Hermione without new women, he would act like an overly protective brother, as if he had some claim to her just by past association. Hermione didn't like it but she couldn't think of an alternative, nor could she mention her feelings at the risk of permanently damaging their already mangled relationship.

"Besides," Hermione added after a bite into her sandwich, mind back in the present. "If Blaise has a reason for this choice it's usually a good one. He doesn't do anything without carefully considering it first. So if he thinks this is what needs to be done to protect me, than so be it."

"Oh, really? " Ron huffed with sarcasm. "Have you suddenly become so stupid that you can't think for yourself anymore?"

Hermione had had enough. "Ronald Weasley," she hissed, trying not to wake the baby. "Butt-out of my damn business. I have had enough of your attitude." Hermione inwardly cringed at her tone; she sounded like an overbearing mother. "There is nothing I can _do_. When Chancellor Zabini gives an order, it is obeyed. That's how things work. So stop yelling at me for something beyond my control and support me on this instead!" James stirred in his stroller and started to cry. Hermione turned to Harry and Ginny, shamefaced. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean to wake him up."

Ginny waved the brunette's apology away. "Don't be silly, he wasn't crying because of you. He was crying because of my dumb brother." She glared at Ron who was picking at his food. Ginny picked James up and bounced him slightly on her knee for comfort. "Of course we will support you, Hermione. It's not your fault that this happened to you; we understand the politics of your office. If you ever need a place to vent, you know our house is always open. By the way," Ginny added with a sly smile. "What do you want to do for your birthday? It's on Monday, you know and mum's been pestering me to ask you since it's only five days away."

Hermione stalled by asking if she could hold James, it was her fault that he was awake again. Ginny shifted James to her friend who cradled the baby gently. James was quiet, a bit wary of the change from the comfort of his mother to this strange woman. Deciding that she at least felt a little bit the same as his caregiver, he settled into contentedly watching the brunette. Hermione looked at him trying to smile to put the babe at ease, but the muscles felt strained and she couldn't do it.

Thinking of her birthday while holding this baby made her feel odd. As if she had missed out on something._ Have I missed out?_ James' weight in her arms felt heavier than he really was. As if he represented the weight of a decision. "Oh, I don't know," she said, still staring in James' eyes. The baby just looked back. "You really don't have to do anything. The nineteenth is a busy day for me anyway, I have a huge inspection of one of the new MDPA warehouses and I really don't think that I will be getting out of work before it's really late in the evening."

Ginny frowned, sensing Hermione was avoiding it. "Hermione, you're turning twenty-eight. This is _important_."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Hermione, we would love to throw you a party. Or," he added hastily noticing her look of disgust. "At least a small get together with our families at the Burrow or something."

The witch was quiet. She knew she should just nod and accept their offer. It would make everyone happy, especially her mother who seemed to have nothing to do since Hermione's father died. Looking at James when he put his thumb to his mouth, Hermione felt something stir in her heart. "All this talk of birthdays…did I miss out on this?" Hermione asked quietly, surprising her friends and herself with the statement. She pursed her lips and looked up, trying to pass it off as if she hadn't said anything.

"_Now_ you say that?" Ron roared out, causing patrons at surrounding tables to look. James started to squirm and whine, reaching for his mother. Hermione quickly handed the baby to Ginny, mortified.

The redhead stood up, taking James and shifting his weight to her hip. The baby cooed, soothed by the distraction of playing with his mother's long red locks. "We should get going, James really needs a nap in is own crib." Ginny decided to drop the subject of Hermione's birthday; maybe she could later convince Hermione that the two of them could go out for dinner that Saturday night. It wasn't the same as on her actual birthday, but Ginny thought that it would a least honor the date somewhat.

Harry stood after his wife, folding up the stroller to an impossibly small size and pocketing it. "Seriously, Hermione, please don't hesitate to come to us. We miss seeing you, these once a month lunches and the occasional drop-bys for tea aren't enough. James needs to see his auntie more often." The famous wizard smiled at Hermione who nodded in return.

"I promise to stop by more often, Harry. Don't worry about me." The married couple nodded at this statement before setting off down the street. Hermione and Ron were left alone then, a situation that they rarely found themselves in. She hadn't meant to upset him; she was merely speaking out loud. Hermione didn't want a child right now; she was still too focused on her work. But when she held James, it had overwhelmed her. Her day had been taxing and emotionally draining. She was tired and didn't know what had come over her. Hermione was always the type to know everything and, in turn, want to do everything she could. It started in her third year at Hogwarts when she used a time-turner to take as many classes as possible. It pleased her to know that she was able to take as many classes as she could, that she wasn't wasting a minute of her time.

Making the decision to accept the Alderman position came with sacrifices, sacrifices that even owning a time-turner could not fix. It's not that she regretted not having a family, she only regretted not being able to do everything she could, and having unfulfilled or unexplored options bothered Hermione to no end. "There's still time," her mother always said whenever Hermione talked to her about these feelings. "I am proud of you for pursuing such a successful career. But if _you're_ not happy, then _you_ need to reevaluate your life."

Hermione looked at Ron. She was happy. She had been happy. Why would that all change now? "Ron, listen, I'm tired and I'm sorry for saying what I did. I didn't mean to upset you. I just was thinking out loud." Ron simply crossed his arms, frowning down into his lunch plate.

Bev stepped forward and bent apologetically towards Hermione from the table behind them. "Ma'am, I'm afraid we have to go now, the meeting…"

"Ah yes, your precious _meetings_," Ron blurted scathingly. "Wouldn't want you to be late for them."

Hermione stood up from the table, her head slightly inclined, her curls falling forward to hide her face. She was tired, her head hurt and she didn't know why. It upset her that Ron was acting this way and her strained emotions made her vulnerable to sadness. While she was intelligent enough to know that they would never again be close friends, it still pained her to think that he couldn't at least be civil to her. _But maybe that's too much to ask of him. I did break his heart._ "Goodbye Ron," she said quietly. "It was good to see you again."

Bev and Carl fell into step on either side of the witch as she walked away from the lunch table. Hermione resisted the urge to glance back over her shoulder, but if she had, she knew Ron would still be sitting there, looking small and alone.


	8. Chapter 7 Updated

**Chapter 7 Updated**

**I worked a lot on this chapter, I think you'll be seeing some dramatic changes from here on out...if any of you remember the old chapters...since I'm _sure_ you all have memorized everything I've ever written haha. But I am expanding on and adding to a lot of things. Im adding in more dialogue, more action, and realistic thoughts. I'm also editing out all the dumb mistakes I can find since I don't have a beta.**

**For those of you who know the story, what's different in this chapter is a lot more dialogue and a lot less boring exposition. You get to see more of Draco's thoughts and I've made his alcohol problem more obvious. It's not a main point in the story, but I do believe it is important to his character. I mean, come on. If you were in exile for eight years, you wouldn't be perfect either.**

**Also, for those of you who remember, Wes Smithfield gets a much bigger role in this chapter and we get to hear about his background and how he came to work for the Ministry in America. He's quite the character and fun to write, I'm glad I've started to give him a bigger role.**

**For those of you new to the story, if any, or who don't remember the old chapter, you're not missing anything. I'm just making the story better. :3**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 7 – Monday, September 19th-Saturday September 24th.<p>

...

That Monday dawned bright and clear, but Draco scowled at the rising sun that shone in through his curtains. The light that painted his walls was surprisingly red. _Welcome to Hell_, Draco thought. His head was pounding from his whiskey consumption the previous night…or had he stopped drinking in the early hours of that morning? Draco rubbed his eyes, unable to recall.

The alarm he had smacked into snooze went off again. "Yes, I _know_," he told it before ripping the cord out from the wall. The light on the digital clock face dimmed in a satisfying way. Draco sat there for a moment, enjoying the contrast of the cool morning air upon his naked torso, and the warmth of the sheets around his legs. "What am I doing?" he asked out loud. The light of the sunrise inching across his bedroom walls had no answer. He blinked rapidly as the sun moved to shine around a building straight through his window. "And why the _fuck_ did I buy a flat facing full east?"

Draco pulled himself out of his bed and forced himself to get dressed in a timely manner. It was his first official day as a Number, he had to meet Carl (or as he was instructed to call him, "sir") at…_her_...apartment to learn the morning routine of his new boss.

"The sooner you get accustomed to our kind of protocol, _boy_,the better," Carl had gruffly stated when he had seen the look of displeasure on the blonde's face that Wednesday past. "Learn the rules, learn the routine, and you survive. On Monday, you'll see how morning's work." Remembering this, Draco groaned. He wanted to witness the Granger woman's morning routine as much as he wanted to fuck a flobberworm, but he managed to get out of his apartment on time. If he didn't cooperate, he would be taken away from this world, away from the magic, and put back with the muggles. _And that would be far worse than watching somebody brush their teeth, even if it is Granger._

Draco tugged on his MDP regulation uniform for a Number, noticing how it fit his body very well. He paused; he couldn't remember he had last worn a suit that had been tailored for him. He was so tall now that none of the police uniforms really felt comfortable, and muggle jeans were such a foreign idea that he usually grabbed the first pair he could find or he wore sweats. Draco looked at himself in the mirror tacked clumsily next to the window across from his bed.

Black pants, white button down shirt, black suit jacket, nothing out of the ordinary, but as Draco adjusted his Ministry-issued dark purple tie, he had to admit that he looked good. At least the cuff of his pants didn't hover vaguely around his ankles. Even the leather shoes fit. Draco tugged on his jacket lapels, shrugging his shoulders in adjustment. _Now, if only I felt good,_ he thought, a frown beginning to crease his forehead.

A muffled beeping noise interrupted his thoughts. Draco turned away from the mirror, his frown deepening. He looked at the clock he had unplugged and saw the cord still laying as he had left it. The beeping grew louder. Draco began to scramble through his apartment, tossing clothes and empty bottles and cans out of his way. He thought he had heard it coming from the sitting area. Draco swore when he stubbed his toe against the cracked leather chair Blaise had sat in two weeks ago. Draco swore again when he found a small mirror with an earpiece in an envelope on the chair's seat. _Where the fuck did this come from?_

As he picked it up, purple magic crackled over the mirror's surface and running across his hands. Draco felt a shiver head down his spine at the pleasure of touching magic again. His headache was gone, he felt calm, at peace; he wanted to revel in the feeling but the intensified beeping kept him from his thoughts. Draco smacked it lightly to forcefully make the noise go away. It took him a couple of tries to figure out that two taps upon the front surface were needed to establish a connection with the caller.

"Er…hello?" Draco asked tentatively before Carl's face materialized in the surface. He stiffened when he realized that it was Hermione's Number One. "Sir," Draco added, feeling it was necessary.

"Put the earpiece in and get your ass over here, _now_." Carl sounded unnecessarily annoyed.

"I'm not late, am I?" the blonde snipped. That was a mistake. Carl's face twisted into total disgust. "Alright, alright, I'm on my way, _sir_."

Draco quickly peered into his mirror, adjusting his tie before tucking a small flask into his suit jacket's inner pocket, shoving the earpiece in his ear, and rushing out the door.

...

Forty-five year old Carl Hammond watched Draco Malfoy stand uncomfortably in the middle of Hermione's living room. The older man noted with satisfaction the way Draco's eyes darted around the furniture, as if he were trying to find a place to stand that would make his body the most invisible.

Carl was right, to an extent. Draco was scanning the flat, but to figure out what kind of person Hermione Granger had turned into, not to hide. Draco didn't really care, he told himself as he examined an entire wall of full bookshelves. He was just curious.

His eyes left the bookshelf wall and traveled to the sleek furnishings around the apartment. _A very modern look for a wizarding flat, but then again she was a Mud_…Draco swallowed the thought with a gulp. _Have to be nice, have to be nice…_He distracted himself by peering into the rooms beyond the main one. There was a small hallway leading deeper into the flat, presumably to the bedroom and bathroom. The hallway, too, was lined with full bookshelves. _Well_, Draco thought with a slight smirk. _That certainly has not changed._

He wanted to call out to the woman, to make some sort of snide comment about the number of books and how they most likely corresponded to her lack of a male resident in the flat, but he didn't. Exile or not, eight years was a long time for anybody, and Draco had grown up in that time, the years maturing him. Of course, this change had certainly been helped along by his brief experience in London gang life. He had had to start out at the bottom of the "food chain" in the muggle world, and struggle to survive in the new social context. Draco had learned to hold his tongue and insults, having learned through painful lessons that nothing good usually came of them.

Hermione entered the main room then, walking through the hallway lined with books. She was hopping to support herself, leaning her hip against the wall as she tugged on tights under a knee-length pencil skirt. Clearly this was something she did all the time, quite comfortable in front of Carl as she rolled the material up her legs.

Draco watched with little interest. It was obvious she had forgotten he was there, or at least what it would mean for him to see this private morning routine. He was a schoolmate, an enemy at one point, and him seeing her with her guard down, going over the day with her Number One, might be embarrassing for her, but Draco had learned enough manners to not bring attention to it. If she wasn't going to mention it, he wasn't.

"Did you have a good birthday dinner, ma'am?" Carl asked, knowing that Ginny and Hermione had finally coordinated their schedules to celebrate Hermione turning twenty-eight the last night instead of Saturday as Ginny was originally planning. Carl hadn't been there, he had given a lecture to some MDPA students; Bev and Wes had gone instead.

Hermione smiled up at him. "Yes, thank you. It was nice to get Ginny by herself for once. I know she loves James, but seeing her with him all the time, I know it's tiring for her." She smiled. "I'm sure Harry was just fine on his own with the baby." Carl smiled back, also thinking the image of Harry alone with the energetic baby James funny.

Draco listened to the conversation. So Harry and Ginny had, predictably, gotten married and had a baby named…_James. Wasn't that his dad's name?_ Draco thought the whole arrangement tedious but he tried to keep his mind away from negative comments.

He suspected that Harry and Ginny would marry, everyone knew about the precious relationship of the two Gryffindors. Draco wasn't surprised that it had led to marriage and a baby, either. Looking around the apartment again, Draco wondered why Hermione was single. The other "famous" Hogwarts couple of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger clearly hadn't worked out beyond the school years. Draco wondered what happened before he intuitively guessed that it had something to do with her career. He remembered her being obsessed with hard work, so it was no wonder to him that she had elected to take the single-working-woman path.

Draco wondered why she didn't choose both a career and a family. After living in the muggle world, Draco had learned that it was perfectly acceptable for a woman to work hard and have a family at the same time. He didn't think the wizarding community was so conservative that they wouldn't have adopted this modern way of thinking as well. Back when he was growing up, Britain's magical community was fairly liberal on gender equality in the workplace, even if it was fundamental in the equality of magical race. Only a week after his re-entry into the magical world, Draco had learned that racial tensions eased (at least on the surface), and the already open-minded attitude towards women in the workplace had even more improved. Knowing that Hermione was, or at least used to be in school, very determined in everything she did, Draco was confused as to why she had chosen only her job.

_Then again_, he reasoned with himself. _Being totally progressive means that this choice is perfectly acceptable as well._ To Draco, it did seem a waste; she was very smart and he supposed that she could be very pretty to the right person. He watched the woman glance at her reflection in the mirror. _Merlin, I could use a drink._

"Yes," Hermione was saying to Carl as she picked out shoes by the door. "That sounds good. I'll definitely have to look into what the MDPA have planned for their new classroom lessons again today." Once done selecting shoes and a coat, she opened the door.

"Malfoy, get the door," Carl hissed at Draco who had been daydreaming about how vodka might taste this early in the morning. The blonde jumped and looked sheepish, but Hermione cut off her Number One.

"No, Carl, that's alright. He doesn't have to do that, he's here to learn my schedule, not to be my slave." She glanced back at Draco and nodded curtly before turning back to the door. Realizing that she had just put her tights on in front of him, Hermione blushed. _Merlin that's embarrassing, I didn't even think about acting a bit more professional this morning. I'm just so used to Timmy and Carl who don't care._ She exited her flat with the two men, locking her door behind her with a key. _Well, if he wants to pretend like he's not here, _I'm_ going to pretend like he's not here, too._

Draco had seen the blush and almost rolled his eyes. _Great, she thinks I'm a pervert_, he silently berated himself. But he wasn't too worried, watching his boss put on tights in the morning couldn't be an infraction, even if the legs were rather shapely… Draco's thoughts were cut off by Carl bending down to murmur into Hermione's ear; "By the way," the big man said softly. "Happy Birthday, ma'am."

The newly twenty-eight year old smiled slightly, a distant look in her eye. "Thank you, Carl. Thank you very much."

...

Hermione and Draco ignored each other for the rest of the day and by the close of the week, they hardly registered the other even if in the same room. On his first Wednesday, Carl decided that Draco had gotten used to the morning routine (secure perimeter around flat, pick-up, car ride to Ministry, secure office, sit at a desk) enough to have him move onto shadowing Bev, learning Hermione's daily schedule, the names of other Ministry officials, and the office task calendar. And at the end of Draco's first week, Carl had moved the newbie onto shadowing Wes, learning the details of Hermione's driving routine, which routes were safe, which weren't, the protocol to follow in an emergency, etc.

All in all, Draco hadn't really seen much of Hermione besides those first three mornings in her flat and during transition times when she needed to use the Ministry cars. Mostly, Draco sat at a desk, looking at binders full of tedious information about the Ministry that he was expected to absorb. He doodled in the margins a fair amount and was bored the rest of the time. Draco was grateful when his duties eventually changed to having him stay with Wes down in the garage. The tall blonde wizard found himself liking the American's company very much.

It was the Saturday of that first week when Hermione's main car, and Wes' favorite, had developed a bit of a stutter in its engine. Hermione was going to be in meetings all day and Carl decided to let Draco go down to the garage to see Wes the vehicle. The big bodyguard hadn't want to let Draco go at first, preferring to keep the blonde in his sights at all times, but it was a slow day, and Wes was desperate for some company.

"I'll go," Bev piped up, smiling at the American. Wes looked at her and grinned back.

"Much as I'd like you to, darlin', Carl thinks you're needed here, learnin' about the politics of the meetin's the lady's always in and out of." He winked at the woman, causing her to blush. Draco caught the interaction and made a note of it, smiling slightly at the blatant violation of inter-Number relationship rules.

Carl nodded, shuffling through some papers, ignoring the flirting. "Wes is right, you do need to stay here Bev. You need practice on the political side of Hermione's life. You can't just punch the answers out of everyone." The three laughed, causing Draco to feel ousted, looking in at the co-worker banter the three were clearly very accustomed to.

"That is true," Bev acquiesced. "Why don't you take Draco? He could stand to learn a thing or two about cars." She grinned up at Draco who just stared back. He didn't mind Bev; she was too young to know about his Hogwarts reputation and too nice to care even if she did, but in his opinion, she smiled too much. Bev was the only one besides Wes in Hermione's department who called Draco by his first name and spoke to him kindly when they did. To Bev, if Draco had come recommended personally by Chancellor Zabini, it was enough. And if it wasn't, it was after she had and seen his right hook in the training room.

"Well," Carl hesitated, looking at Wes to see if he objected. The American wizard simply shrugged, looking indifferent. "Fine. He'll need to learn those skills anyway," Carl admitted. "Besides, it's not like he does anything else around here."

"Right on, let's go, partner," Wes clapped Draco on the shoulder and led him down into the Ministry's garage. "This is where we keep 'the Fleet'," Wes told Draco in a reverent tone as they entered the basement carport. It was a large underground hanger with enough space to park "the Fleet" of cars and trucks and to house a complete, state-of-the-art mechanical repairs area.

When Wes was around cars, most other thoughts flew out of his mind, including the rumors he had heard about the blonde newcomer standing next to him. When Wes was around cars, nothing else was around him. Draco listened to the man mutter about mufflers and break lines before his chatter turned to a rambling lecture on the basics of automobile engineering. Soon, the one-sided conversation slid into Wes' personal history.

The older wizard had lived in America all his life, drifting from place to place after graduating from Salem. "I never did find the exact right town for me, you know?" Wes asked, tinkering with some bolts. "I mean sure, Oklahoma will always be home, but it ain't _my _home, at least not know, or not yet." Wes had eventually turned to racing cars and gambling in the deep Louisiana south before the American Ministry picked him up.

"I tell ya," Wes said, enunciating his words by pointing a wrench at Draco, smiling crookedly. "That damn New Orleans is just a den of sin, a _wicked_ den. But," the wizard let the wrench drop as his gaze drifted off toward memories. "It sure is a pretty place. Downright beautiful." Draco stole a drink from his flask, putting it away just as Wes came back to the present, pointing the wrench again. "Still, when the Ministry wants you, the Ministry gets you, am I right?"

"Completely," Draco agreed, wiping his mouth.

Wes nodded, turning back to the engine. "They knew I had a talent for cars and the like, and I had passed my Protector test way back when. That's what we call the MDP back home, Protectors. So, they knocked on my door one mornin', dragged me outta bed, and away from two lovely ladies I might add, and offered me a job I couldn't refuse."

Draco frowned. "Did you want to refuse?" he asked.

Wes shook his head, concentrating on the motor in front of him. "Not really, pass me that crowbar will you? Yeah, that one. No, I mean, I was grateful almost, I didn't have no life before then, and the Ministry gave me a purpose, something to do."

"Mm," Draco muttered.

"Sure, I liked the booze, the women, and the cards, but that life got old." Wes stuck the crowbar in a part of the car's engine Draco was sure had a name and started to push, his words coming out breathy and strained. "I mean…how many other people…like me were there? Huf…I figured I weren't the first…to fall into that life…but I could do somethin' better…urgh…like _help_ people and…there!" A loud metal bang came from inside the engine as the crowbar levered something out. Wes straightened, lightly tossing the tool back to Draco and walking over to the blonde. "And if I could help people like the Ministry said I could, well then maybe that would be more fun." The America wiped his hands on a dirty towel and smiled up at Draco who put the crow bar away.

"Fun?" he asked.

"Yeah, fun, you know, entertainin'. Tricks and bets only hold a man's attention for so long, there's gotta be somethin' more, don't you think?" Wes moved to a rolling tool case and opened the top drawer, rummaging around inside it. Draco sat back down on the bench next to the car and thought in silence. "Ah ha!" Wes interrupted the quiet with a found part and the noise of scraping metal as he went back to work.

"By the way," Wes added a few moments later. "The only news of the whole Voldemort situation never really reached us in America. We had our own problems...lot's of them…" the wizard shuddered. "And all that we ever received was what we learned from foreign reports, none of which ever mentioned a Draco Malfoy." Draco stared at Wes who hammered on something solid before looking up to meet Draco's eyes under the popped hood. "I'm just sayin'," the older man concluded.

Draco nodded slightly after a moment, grateful for this man's declaration of a sort of acceptance, then looked away, busying himself with the wood patterns in the bench on which he was sitting. Wes smiled and turned back to his work. He didn't mind Draco. The kid seemed nice enough, certainly qualified enough, and definitely not as evil as Carl made him out to be.

They spent most of the morning like that, Draco quietly listening to Wes describe certain parts of the car's engine and how it all fit together mechanically with the small amount of magical parts integrated into the engines. Around one o'clock, they took a break for lunch and Wes pulled up a chair across from the bench, propping his feet on the surface next to where Draco sat.

"So, Blondie," the American said before tucking into a sandwich. "You gonna tell me about yourself or what?"

Draco almost choked on his own sandwich at the nickname. "Er…what?" he spluttered, not sure what to say.

Wes chuckled good-naturedly. "You gonna tell me your story? I've been hearin' so many different sides, I can't tell which way is up nomore."

"I don't really have a story."

The American laughed outright. "Now _that's_ a good story, Blondie. All right, I get it, you don't wanna say right now, but when you wanna spin a good tale, I'm right here. I do love a good story."

Draco wanted to change the subject. "Then what's the story on Bev?" he asked the Oklahoma native, enjoying the way that Wes colored. "I'm kidding, dude, don't worry, I won't tell."

But Wes shook his head. "There ain't nothin' _too_ tell, Blondie. She's way too young for me, and besides, it's a violation on the rules if we were to have any type of relationship." Draco nodded. "She is mighty pretty though." Wes sighed, breaking a small silence.

Draco gave a short laugh before being taken aback. The sound had been almost foreign to him; he couldn't remember the last time he had been comfortable enough to truly laugh. Wes distracted him from his startling thoughts.

"No laughin' at your superiors, now," the man said, grinning. "Bev is a fine girl, a lovely lass and she is special to me…the MDP! I meant to the MDP!" Wes' face had paled with the Freudian slip.

It was enough to pull Draco back into the conversation. "I knew it! I knew you liked each other." He was having fun teasing the American. Draco liked his accent and his way around cars, his simple, cowboy-like, sense of fun was infectious.

"Now hold on a minute," Wes said, smiling again along with the blonde. "I never said anythin' about her likin' me."

"You don't have to." Draco smiled, the action coming unforced this time. "And it's obvious that she likes you back. Don't you see it?" Wes shook his head and Draco was genuinely surprised. "Really? Man, when was the last time you had a girlfriend?"

The American shrugged. "There was this one, back home in the States, but she moved on as soon as I moved over to London. What? Why are you laughin'?" The way Wes had said "London" had sounded like "Lun-dan". Draco knew it wasn't that funny, but there was something about the sound of his laughter, the way the muscles in his stomach felt…he was simply enjoying the sensation.

"Nothing, just the way you said 'London'…Smithy." He smiled at the American, enjoying being able to get back at the man for dubbing him "Blondie".

Wes shoved Draco's shoulder in play. "Oh, you like the way I pro-nun-ciate words do ya?" Wes asked, making his accent thicker and messing up a word to make it more country. "You should hear the way you sound."

The rest of the afternoon found the two men joking with each other around the car, Wes teaching Draco about the differences in engines and Draco trying to get Wes to speak without an accent. They both enjoyed the activity and the company, and after Draco spotted an object covered by a sheet that turned out to be a car Wes was fixing up by hand, they both felt the beginnings of a tight friendship.

After work in his flat, Draco found axle grease beneath his fingernails and smiled. Working on cars all afternoon without magic wasn't one of the things Draco had expected to experience when he re-entered the wizarding world, but he had thoroughly enjoyed himself. _Shoot,_ he thought, borrowing a word he had learned from Wes. _I didn't even know to expect cars at all._

As he lay in bed that night, Draco tucked his hands behind his head and thought about his week. _Not bad, for a forced gig_. He had hardly seen Hermione at all, he had made a friend, and was on his way to receiving his first paycheck and eventually his freedom. _It's not even that much work_, he thought happily as he rolled over and pulled the covers up. _I hope that this trend continues I could get used to this._ A freshly purchased bottle of scotch remained untouched on the counter, still in its paper bag.


	9. Chapter 8 Updated

**Chapter 8 Updated**

**Not too much different with this chapter, just some timing issues, grammar fixes...AND OH YES, A NEW SCENE WITH DRACO DEALING WITH MAGIC. I added in some drama after his first week in order for his reaction to the magic in the next chapter to make sense.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 8 – Monday, September 26th-Friday, October 21st<p>

...

For the rest of his first couple of weeks, Draco had seen less and less of his boss for whom he was supposed to be a close bodyguard. Clearly, she was keeping away from him on purpose, but Draco couldn't complain about that, and he wasn't alone either. Since his induction in Alderman Granger's Number group, Draco had become fast friends with Wes and, after the American wizard was satisfied that Draco knew enough about cars to, as he put it "respect them", Wes allowed Draco to help with the vintage Mustang hidden under the cloth.

"I'm not really supposed to keep this here, but no one minds since I'm such a good driver and this sweet little thang hardly takes up any room," Wes had told Draco the first time he had introduced "Lunette" to him. It was a red and black '68 Ford Mustang, with a large body, bigger than the previous models, Draco learned, and with an aggressive stance, quad headlamps and a wider grille.

By mid-October, Draco had learned more about cars than anything having to do with the Ministry's new regime. Draco did try to pull as much information out of Wes that was possible, but the American knew his own country's Ministry better.

Regardless, Draco had found it easy to chat with Wes everyday, sometimes teasing him about Bev, sometimes just sitting back and listening to the man's accent as he told stories of his youth in Oklahoma. They had even gone out "for a cold one" a couple of times; a phrase Draco had picked up from Wes replacing "out for a pint".

Those first few weeks Draco was content, happy to let the stress of his re-entry to the magical world be diffused by the easy-going older wizard. Escaping to the garage that dealt with little magic, Draco found to be soothing, especially after what happened at the beginning of only his second week at work.

Monday, September 26th started out like normal for Draco even if he was a bit "off" from the previous night's six (or was it seven?) whiskeys. But it wasn't the alcohol that had made Draco fall over sick as soon as he tried to get out of bed. He never made it to his morning shift. Furious, Carl had Wes drive them to Draco's flat where the two men found him laying face-down on his floor, shaking and covered in sweat.

"Malfoy, I'm telling you right now, this is strike one," Carl had yelled, bursting into the apartment. "And it's only your seventh day for Merlin's sake! You…what?" Carl had bristled as he turned towards Wes, who had just gripped the man's arm, signaling to stop.

"He's sick!" Wes had gestured to the still form of Draco. The two men had looked at each other before rushing into the flat.

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy, what happened to you?" Carl had asked as he helped Wes turn Draco over. The blonde had been in the middle of getting out of bed when he had fallen, toppling forward onto the floor, his legs remaining tangled in his sheets. Draco had groaned when Wes had griped him by the shoulders; the American tried to avoid the vomit on the floor.

"Oh lord, I can't stand vomit," Wes had said before suffering a glare from Carl.

"Pull yourself together, Smithfield. Malfoy, Malfoy! What's wrong?"

Draco had only been able to shake his head before turning to vomit on Wes who promptly threw up in his own disgust. Carl had had to call an emergency vehicle to transport both Wes and Draco to St. Mungo's. Wes had recovered immediately, without even being admitted, needing only some water and space away from the smell of bile. Draco, however, had worsened throughout the day before someone thought to remember his eight-year exile.

"Perhaps the magic in his system has been completely drained," a healer had said, conferring with his colleagues as Carl listened in. "It would make sense, although we've certainly never seen this before, but with the Dark Pockets draining our world, anything is possible."

Draco had promptly been removed from St. Mungo's as soon the hypothesis was made. He recovered within one night in quarantine away from any magic. It was explained to him the next day that the shock to his system had been too great for his body to bear. After eight years away from magic, he was unused to it, and being exposed to magic again all at once his body had reacted adversely to the change in his environment, like an allergy.

"Essentially," a squib healer had told Draco in his recovery room. "You overdosed on magic. We think that you only must have lasted as long as you did because of your lineage." Draco had raised his eyebrows at this, but the healer had continued on. "Thank your lucky stars that you didn't come back to us during a time where our magic was at full power, or you'd be dead."

Draco had closed his eyes, a headache pounding in his ears that made him wish he were dead. The healer had patted his arm. "Just rest up, then. You'll be fine to go back to work tomorrow since your body's processed the largest influx of magic it will see for a long time. You'll have to remember to be careful around concentrated doses of magic until you're completely accustomed to the power. Then you'll be fine. But for now, take it easy, take it slow, and don't sleep with your mirror and earpiece again."

Draco had blushed then, embarrassed he had told the healers that bit of information in the haze of his illness. The magic had felt so good the first few days that he had wanted more of it, he craved it, so he had taken the Ministry-issued mirror and earpiece and held it to his face as he lay in his bed, randomly tapping the objects so the crackle of purple magic would spark across his skin. What he hadn't told St. Mungo's was just how drunk he had been when the idea came upon him.

Hermione had been absent through this whole affair, tied up in an end-of-the-month board meeting that stretched across two days. Bev later informed her of the event, but Hermione's concentration was elsewhere and if someone had asked her the next day what had happened, she wouldn't have been able to remember the details.

After the incident, Draco relished the peace hanging out in the garage offered him, and it was a much safer place for Draco to be, at least for the time being. After his "magic illness", Draco actively sought out places with little or no magic. If he had to go somewhere on official Number business, he made sure to research how much magic would be at a destination ahead of time. So with hardly any magic at all hovering in the air of the larger hanger space, Draco's head felt clearest when he was in the garage with Wes. Though soon, even that wasn't enough. He wanted to, he _needed_ to, find information about his trial

The third weekend in October found Draco during one of his Saturday shifts, pretending to get lost on the 48th floor, which housed the Ministry's extensive library. He had lingered outside the tax records door, a place that was inaccessible to anyone but those with high Ministry credentials. Draco had been quickly escorted out of the floor and brought before Carl who had severely scolded him.

"What on Earth did you think you were doing, _boy_?" Carl had fairly screamed at him when security had led him back to Hermione's offices. "You can't just go wandering about just wherever you want. You have a _job_ for Merlin's sake, and a chance to get your old life back. What were you playing at?"

Draco hadn't wanted answer, but his frustration was too great for him to stay silent. "I don't really have a job, _sir_, and you know it. This is all such a fucking joke, I don't _do_ anything all day because you won't _let_ me do anything. Alderman Granger ignores me along with the rest of the staff so I've done what you've wanted me to and hid away so y'all can't see me." Draco had surprised himself with the use of the slang he had picked up from hanging around Wes.

Carl had noticed it too. "Hanging out with the cowboy a little too much, eh Malfoy? Well, your lazy days are over, I will speak about this with Alderman Granger at once."

"Go ahead," Draco had challenged. "See if I care. Maybe I'll be able to do something around here. But if you really don't want me involved, just let me know so I can prepare myself for a year of invisibility."

Carl had stood up. He didn't like the blonde man one bit and he wasn't used to dealing with situations like this. Office politics weren't his forte; he was a man of action. While he was very proud that he was a Number One, Carl often admitted to himself that he would do much better as a Number Two. "And I thank Merlin that it is just a year. Get out of my sight, snitch." Draco had left work early that day, too angry to stay at the Ministry or even to down in the garage with Wes. He walked straight into the nearest pub and ordered a scotch on the rocks and settled into a dark corner.

"Fuck them," he had muttered into his drink, fuming with anger. Even though he would rather do anything else in the world than work for Hermione Granger, he wanted to be doing _something_. At first, he had thought that hanging out in the garage with Wes would be enough, as he was in the magical world again and he was getting paid to sit around and chat with a friend. But Draco was restless and he couldn't stand to be idle.

"I hate them, I _hate_ them all," Draco had continued to mutter to himself as he sat in the corner drinking. He knew that finding out the truth about his trial would require a higher position at work, a Number Three or even a Number Two. But to get a promotion, Draco needed to have work to do so his superiors could evaluate his progress. "And I can't _do_ any of that if they don't give me work." Draco had ordered another drink and ignored the looks the other patrons gave to his mutterings.

He didn't just want to sit around for a year, to behave like a whipped schoolboy and hope that his trial had a favorable outcome. Draco wanted to make absolutely sure that he would be granted a full pardon and he was willing to do anything to secure that future for himself. "If I could only _prove_ myself then they'd see, then they'd let me stay for certain."

Draco had left the bar early that night, but he had been drunk enough that it took him a fair while to get home, caressing the walls of the buildings on the street for support. When he had collapsed onto his bed in his small apartment, Draco had wished out loud for something to change by the next week. His wish was granted. Monday, October 17th opened to a whole new routine for Draco working as a Number for Alderman Hermione Granger. As soon as he walked into the office in the morning, the stern face of Carl Hammond greeted Draco.

"Malfoy," Carl started, indicating that Draco should sit down at the chair in front of his desk. The larger man handed Draco a folder once the blonde was situated.

Draco opened it and flipped through. "What is this, sir?"

"It's your class and training schedule at the MDPA. You're to begin this afternoon at one for an anti-terrorist strategies lecture. And then you have a three o'clock boxing/mixed martial arts class. The facilities for the academy are in the building just down the block from here. I'll give you a pass and a locker number for the locker room…"

Draco wasn't paying attention. His mind had gone blank with anger. "Sir, I was _personally_ assured by Chancellor Zabini that I would not be taking any sort of classes, that my muggle police training was more than adequate to satisfy your requirements." Draco was slightly hung over and not in the mood to be stuck in a classroom all day.

Carl didn't notice the stale whiskey on his breath, only his whiney voice and attitude. "Listen you _wanker_," Carl hissed to the blonde under his breath, trying not to let anyone else in the office hear. "Remember when you bitched about having nothing to do? Well, here's your wish come true. Take the classes and be thankful that we're not just kicking your sorry arse back into exile." Draco's eyes widened. Carl could be quite impressive at times and when he threw his complete body weight behind the matter, he made quite a striking picture. "You _will_ got to the Academy, you _will _attend your classes and you _will _like it. Got it?"

Carl always presented himself as calm, quiet, and collected, but he had never lost his temper like this before. It gave Draco a lot of satisfaction to see this older, experienced, Number One, loose his cool. It also didn't hurt knowing that he was the cause. Always the instigator, Draco liked seeing interesting reactions in people, especially if he was the one who caused the reaction. It always made things more…_interesting._ The blonde tried not to crack a smile.

"Fine, but what about my duties here?"

Carl sneered, and this time there was no effort on his part to conceal the action. "Double time. It looks like your schedule just got a lot busier."

_Do not punch boss,_ Draco chanted to himself, nails pricking his palms in balled fists. _Do not punch boss…_

_..._

"Do not punch through the wall at this point, the weakness of the supports here and here, could bring the entire structure down." The professor in Draco's MDPA Tactics and Analysis class was droning on worse than Professor Binns. Draco's head was propped up on a curled hand resting on his desk but he could barely keep his eyes open. He hoped that maybe he looked like he was reading along with the textbook since his gaze was downcast. _Probably not,_ he thought, quickly wiping the corner of his mouth. _Considering the fact that I almost just drooled._

It was Friday, October 21st at the end of a very long, very hard, week for Draco. He was embarrassed by his exhaustion as it was only his first week taking classes and working, but he had to admit he was tired. The professor called for the class to turn their pages. Only half seemed to obey, Draco one of them only because he had moved to wipe his mouth, otherwise he would have still been in the semi-coma-state like most of his other classmates.

"And if you turn here to attack both doors, the left flank would be left wide open..."

Draco felt his butt and brain go numb at the same time. To keep his blood from slowing entirely, he reached up to his shoulder and rubbed it, warming the muscle. Two days prior, Draco had gotten hit hard at boxing practice. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't have happened, but as it was, he had pulled a Night Watch shift at the Ministry the day before and had to study when his shift ended for a quiz the next afternoon. As a result, he let his guard down during practice and his sparring partner had taken advantage of his sloppy mistake.

Draco groaned in satisfaction as his fingers began to work into the knots of the sore muscle. "Something to add, Malfoy?" the professor had heard his non-verbal noise and mistook it for speaking out of turn. Draco blushed, surprised and guilty. Then he shook is head._ I'm not in Hogwarts anymore_, _I shouldn't act like an unprepared little schoolboy._

"I do not, Professor, I apologize for the interruption." He received glares even from his peers that had been asleep. Everyone hated him. The first day he had arrived at the MDPA, he had thought that things might go smoothly. No one questioned him when he arrived, or gave him trouble when he walked past the front desk; he even got directions to the locker room from a friendly janitor. But it was as soon as he had stepped foot into the classrooms with the other trainees that they all turned to glare at him in unison as if out of a bad muggle movie. He hadn't even bothered going to the front to introduce himself to the class or teacher. Draco had quickly maneuvered as best he could to the back of the room where he had hidden behind his books and notepapers. It had worked so far, but this was only week one. _I thought everyone was supposed to be all "accepting" or whatever now. I guess Blaise was lying to me; either that or his head is so far up his ass that he can't see the truth himself._

The professor had turned his attention from Draco and was back to teaching the lesson. "As I was saying before I was interrupted…"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned the page of his book. Even though it bored him, he had learned a lot about the world in which he now lived. It wasn't like Hogwarts where learning was tiring for Draco, he liked being able to fill in the eight-year gap that he missed out on, and the cultural changes that had taken place were fascinating to him. That being said, Tactics and Analysis class was boring no matter how Draco looked at it.

When the class was over, Draco took his time gathering up his belongings, waiting for the rest of the class to file out before he did. Getting caught in that swarm of Draco-haters was the last thing he wanted to do. He checked his watch as he tried not to glare at a straggler. He was going to be late getting back to Hermione's office if this one student didn't leave soon. When the young man walked up to ask the professor a question, Draco almost growled before stalking angrily out of the room.

Exiting the MDPA building, Draco's earpiece beeped with an incoming call. Draco struggled to shrug on his Number regulation jacket at the same time as accepting the call. "Yes?" Draco huffed, finger holding onto the earpiece, shoulder twisting into the fabric of his jacket, trying to get comfortable.

"Where in the world are you? Carl's goin' red." It was Wes.

Draco finished putting on his jacket and moved his shoulder bag to a better position at his back. "I'm sorry, class got out late. I'm almost there."

"Well hurry up, there's a meetin' about to start." Draco swore as Wes ended the call. He had forgotten about the meeting. It wasn't necessary for all of Hermione's Numbers to be there, but she required an escort immediately following to conclusion of the meeting: a process for which Draco was needed. He checked his watch and broke into a run.

Fairly tearing across London, Draco swore again when he bumped smack into a tall man wearing a dark trench coat. "Excuse me," Draco mumbled. Draco's eyes went wide with shock when the man turned. It was Sherlock Holmes. _Shit_, Draco thought.

The world's only consulting detective squinted his eyes at Draco, his mind churning furiously. Draco knew that the magic that the Ministry had placed on him for when he was a muggle was still in tact for those he had met who thought him Dan Collins. Because of the shortage, MOM wasn't able to _obliviate_ all the people whom Draco had been in contact with over the past eight years, so it was decided that the Dan Colins cover story would stay in place, and they would just add in an extra plot line of him being transferred to a different, higher, branch in the British government. The magic that caused muggles' minds to slip away from looking too deeply into this cover story was still intact and it worked completely, with the exception of the man that now stood in front of Draco.

"Hello, Dan," Sherlock asked, eyes glazing over for a moment, the magic worked on him. Then he shook his head, dark curls bouncing. "No…why are you late? What are you late for?" Sherlock rubbed his forehead. "Oh, this is _maddening_. I can't figure this out. I hate that." He seemed to mutter the last sentence more to himself than to Draco.

"Uh," Draco replied intelligently. "I have to go!" He ran away from the man, turning down the first street he came to, taking the long way back to the office. Now he was going to be really late. Bursting into the main lobby of the Ministry, Draco dashed through the muggle-decoy entrance, not caring if he caused any problems. Using the street-entrance in the toilets, he impatiently bit his lip, trying not to think about any reprimands that he was about to face.

He took the stairs at a run up to Hermione's floor and slammed the door open with a bang, causing the rest of the office to peer curiously around and stare at him with strange looks. Draco didn't return any of them; instead he made a beeline right to Hermione's office door. It swung open onto a private meeting between Hermione and couple of high-ranking Ministry officials. They ignored his interruption but Bev stifled laughter and Carl gave him a death-glare. The two Numbers stood behind Hermione who was at her desk. Draco looked to his right and found Wes standing at lax attention on the opposite side of the room. Draco quickly maneuvered into place next to Hermione's Number Three.

"What's going on?" he whispered to Wes out of the corner of his mouth.

"Meetin'." the American replied quietly. Draco rolled his eyes. He really wasn't in the mood. "I'm kiddin'. Alderman called these two up to speak to her on what the weather bugs deciphered about the awful hot weather back in August. Apparently it has somethin' to do with those Dark Pockets."

Draco's eyebrows raised and he bent his mouth down in feigned interest. Wes mimicked the action, the two men making over-interested faces at each other. Draco chewed on the inside of his cheek so he wouldn't laugh. Wes didn't even try to hide his smile. "It's a darn good thing you're here now, Blondie," Wes whispered after he had quietly calmed himself. "I'm bored outta my _mind_."

"Out of," Draco responded in a low voice, making fun of Wes. The cowboy-wizard just glared at him. Draco was glad that he had befriended this man. Wes really was a good person, and he had brought Draco a little out of his shell, making him feel comfortable re-entering the magical world.

Wes, of course, didn't know what he was doing for the blonde man beside him; he was just being his normal, friendly self. Wes didn't think of Draco as anything but a co-worker with whom he had made a connection. All Wes knew, and cared about, was that Draco was nice, intelligent, hard working and fun to be around. Sure, Wes saw some flaws within his person, and he knew that he had had a hard past, but that didn't matter to the American. It didn't matter that Draco sometimes was too sullen to talk to, or occasionally he drank too much when they went out. So what if he had made some mistakes? _Hell, _Wes had thought on more than one occasion,_ I've made a fair share of mistakes too. _According to Wes, Draco was simply a good friend.

A knock hit Hermione's office door and Carl glanced up at Wes and Draco, silently asking them to take care of it. Slipping out of the meeting, Wes and Draco were greeted by an officer of the MDP, one who worked especially as a security guard for the Ministry. "May we help you?" Draco asked the man, unconsciously taking on the tone and posture of someone very important. "Alderman Granger is in a meeting right now, so if you-"

The Ministry MDP officer cut him off. "Actually, this is about you. Would you come with me please?" Draco was astonished.

"Why?" he stuttered. "What happened?"

The officer squinted at him. "Nothing too serious. We just need to downstairs to deal with someone who _followed _you today."

Wes stepped around Draco. "Well that sounds a little serious to me? Who was it? Why was he followin' Blondie here?"

The MDP officer sighed, pushing back a stray lock of hair. "Look, I don't have time for this. They just sent me up here to get you. Normally we would deal with this ourselves and notify you later but this time it's different." Wes and Draco shared a glance.

"Why?" Wes asked again.

"Because it was a muggle who followed you."

Draco's eyes widened and his mouth opened with surprise. "Don't tell me…is this man's name Sherlock Holmes by any chance?"

"Just come with me, please." Draco followed the officer who turned abruptly when he realized that Wes was following them. "Just Malfoy, please, Smithfield. I'm sure you're needed back in the meeting."

Wes shrugged. "Probably not, but I get the hint." He looked at Draco. "You better come right back up here and tell me everythin'." Draco gave the man a tiny smile before following the officer down to Ministry Internal Security headquarters on the first floor.

The officer led Draco to a back room, one that was primarily used for interrogations. Draco wondered if that was a bad sign. A large man with a large belly turned when they arrived. He was clutching a folder that Draco hoped didn't have his name on the tab. "Took you long enough," the fat man started. He extended a hand toward Draco, apparently not really angry, just normally gruff. "Name's officer James Colvin, I'm the head of MIS. This young man ran into our building a couple minutes after you did."

"I was late," Draco explained. Colvin just shrugged it away. Clearly, he didn't care.

"Well, he wouldn't have been a problem, out street-level entrance is spelled with the best magic available to deter muggles, even the most persistent ones. But his man here," Colvin stopped, shaking his head. "I don't know how to explain it. It's like the magic works on him, but at the same time, it doesn't."

Draco nodded. "I worked with him when I was…away. The muggle police force essentially relied on him to solve crimes. He's extremely intelligent, way above average for a muggle, and his interests lay in deduction and solving puzzles."

Colvin interrupted. "That's all well and good, but how in Merlin's name does he manage to escape the effects of our security magic?"

Draco shrugged. "The best I can guess is that the magic does work, it blocks him from discovering the truth, but it doesn't stop him from knowing that there's something being withheld from him." Draco rubbed the back of his neck. "Frankly, I don't even think that even without the Shortage, any magic would work on him. His mind would just try to worm right through it."

Colvin nodded seriously. "I understand the problem, but why did he follow you in here?"

"I bumped into him on the street coming back from the Academy, I thought I gave him the slip, but like I said, he's very good."

"The question that now remains is what do we do with him." Colvin flipped open the folder that had been nestled between his arms and stomach and searched through the top page with a stubby finger. Draco was happy to see that the folder was on Sherlock, not him. The large man was quiet for a while and Draco felt his mind start to wander.

"Sir, is there anything else I can do?" Draco let his question trail off, trying to imply that he needed to get back.

Colvin got the hint. "Oh, of course, of course, I'm sorry. Please, we'll let you know if anything else comes up. For now, at least, we will have to keep him here." The two men looked in at their captive who was frowning intensely at the one-way mirror. Draco knew Sherlock couldn't see him, but it still seemed as if the man was still making eye contact with him.

"All right, thank you, sir." With one last look into the mirror, Draco turned to leave the office. Before he had a chance to open the door, Hermione strode in, followed by Carl, Bev and Wes. The American wiggled his eyebrows at Draco, but Draco ignored the man. It's not like he could tell Wes anything now.

"What on earth is going on here?" Hermione asked, using her best "Official Ministry Business" voice. Draco knew she probably thought that she looked impressive but he thought she just looked like a prat. Everyone else may be impressed with their precious Alderman, but Draco wasn't having any of it. The head security guard was flustered by her arrival, but he quickly calmed himself.

"This man followed your Number Four into the Ministry this afternoon, Alderman Granger. We've since discovered that he is highly intelligent, even by our standards, and while our magic blocks from him the deepest information about our society, he still knows there is something holding him back." Colvin nodded to the MDP officer standing against the wall for him to get Hermione a chair. The woman waved the request away.

"Please, James, you know I think it's too formal for you to call me Alderman." She smiled at the man. Draco tried not to barf. He really hated it when Hermione did that; her tone to him always seemed so condescending. "Why was he following one of my Numbers?"

Draco answered before Colvin could. He was annoyed that Hermione couldn't even say his name, not even in a purely professional setting. Hermione hadn't uttered a single word to Draco since he had stormed out of her office that first day in September when Blaise had brought them together. Even now, when this whole affair had to do directly with him, she couldn't even meet his eye. "He followed me here, _ma'am_. He was a consulting detective for the police force I served on during my exile. I bumped into him when I was rushing back here from the Academy. I thought I had outrun him, but clearly, I didn't."

Hermione folded her arms and turned towards Draco. Her gaze hovered somewhere between his left ear and shoulder. "Clearly," she said, coolly. Draco's blood boiled. Hermione turned away, gaze turned to the glass behind which held Sherlock Holmes. Index and pointer finger pressed to her lips, she was quiet for a moment; Draco could see her thinking hard.

"Malfoy here thinks that this man is so smart that even our most powerful magic wouldn't work on him, Shortage or not." Colvin interrupted Hermione's silent musings. She looked at the big-bellied man and nodded.

"Very well, thank you Colvin. You may go." She gestured to the other MDP officer, intending to include him in her invitation to leave as well. Colvin started to protest before Wes distracted the two by asking some questions about the infrastructure of the internal security offices while simultaneously leading them out the door. Hermione turned to Carl and Bev as soon as the door shut. "I'm going to talk to him and if we can, I'm going to use him."

"Use him, ma'am?" Bev asked. "What for?"

Draco was surprised to see a harsh grin twist onto Hermione's face. "For us, of course. He could prove very useful to the Shacklebolt administration." Bev took a step back, looking wary. Hermione either ignored it or she didn't see. "Carl, Bev you wait outside and guard the door, please. Yes, that door. I don't even want anyone in this room. Go, out in the hall with the both of you. Malfoy," Draco jerked at the sound of his name. He turned and looked directly into Hermione's eyes that, once a deep brown, were now a roiling sea of darkness. "You're coming with me."


	10. Chapter 9 Updated

**Chapter 9 Updated**

**A lot was changed toward the end of this chapter with more dialogue between Hermione and Draco alone in an elevator after the incident with Sherlock. Enjoy!**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 – Friday, October 21st, 4:15 p.m.<p>

...

Draco had no idea what was going to happen. The strange look that had crossed Hermione's face had gone as suddenly as it had appeared, replaced with a look of serenity. His eyes followed her figure as she opened and walked through the door that led into the room with Sherlock. Whatever was going to happen next, he was going to be there when it did. He quickly followed his boss into the room before the door closed.

He had barely spoken to Hermione since he started working and he couldn't remember the last time she had met his gaze. He tried to think back to when it was the last time he had actually seen her. Draco thought back to Hogwarts, to the battle, sitting in the Great Hall with his parents, hoping that no one would kick them out. Draco was as sure now as he had been then that no one wanted the Malfoy family there. He remembered the glares, the whispers, and the hate. He remembered thinking that they had just fought off the worst evil in the world, defeated the root of mistrust and division, Potter had even just made a speech about acceptance and moving forward as one, past mistakes to be forgotten. But they had still stared. He remembered Hermione then. She had walked past him, eyes looking past where he sat, not out of hate; she simply didn't have the energy to look at anyone but the Weasley boy who had walked beside her.

He remembered where he had seen her next. Draco's throat squeezed. She was at his trial. Briefly, perhaps, but she was there. She had been at the door to the trial room, clutching papers and books just like at Hogwarts. "This is _wrong_," Draco remembered hearing her mutter to a tall, black man he had guessed as Kingsly Shacklebolt. "I do not agree with this at _all_. Remember what Harry said, think of what Dumbledore would want."

The tall man had sighed. "There is nothing I can do. The public wants results, evenly distributed revenge they can count on. This is for the best, they will be given another chance in ten years."

They had locked eyes then, his widening in fear when he saw hers were filled with tears.

Draco had known at that moment what was going to happen to him.

_Exile._

_..._

In the present, Hermione stepped into the room that housed the mysterious man and looked around. She had never been in this part of the building before, and the drab room that was only used for interrogations gave her the creeps. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Now was no time to lose face, she had important work to do.

"Why are you afraid?" the man asked her. Her gaze shot to his, impressed in spite of herself. She could tell he would be tall if he stood up, just a bit over six feet perhaps, and he had dark, unruly hair, full of curls. But it was his eyes that caught her breath, his eyes that caused her discomfort. Housed above sharp, high cheekbones, his eyes were slanted delicately, like that of a cat or dragon. They constantly seemed to change color whenever the light-orb caught a new angle: blue then gray, purple then green. This was where he took all the information in; it was through these eyes that began the deliberate calculation of his surroundings. His vast intelligence shimmered through his eyes, and their raw power unnerved Hermione. "Just then," the man repeated. "Why were you afraid?"

She decided to start using a different tactic. Hermione crossed the room and sat down at the table in the chair across from his. Draco was left to stand. "What is your name?" Hermione asked the man seated across from her. She watched as his eyes bounced wildly back from Draco, to her, to the folder on the table, to their clothes, hair, faces, and finally back to her.

"You already know what my name is, what my story is. You're the kind of people that know those things before coming into these little games. I'm very smart and you know that I am. I also know that you are a very smart person too so I suggest we skip all this foreplay and dive right into bed." He gave a little cock of his head, as if playful, but no trace of a smile crossed his face. His voice was deep and velvety but it's soothing pitch did nothing to hide his harsh and snapping words.

Hermione glanced down at the folder to be sure that she had read his name correctly. "All right…Sherlock Holmes…you caught me. My name is Alderman Hermione Granger and this is my Number Four, Draco Malfoy. I believe you've met?"

Draco looked around in horror at Hermione giving away trade secrets. "What are you doing?" he hissed at his boss, who simply ignored him. Sherlock ignored him too, peering at Draco with a strange, fierce intensity.

"Draco Malfoy?" Sherlock repeated, his mouth forming around the foreign syllables carefully, as if he tasted them. "Draco…Malfoy…That's an odd name."

Draco wrinkled his nose and gave the man a scornful look. "You think Sherlock Holmes is any better?" Draco saw Hermione roll her eyes at the behavior of the two men. He ignored it.

Sherlock just shrugged. "My name is not important but your name…oh yes…this one does suit you. Much better than Dan Collins." Sherlock looked very satisfied. His gaze returned to Hermione. "So, who are you, 'Alderman Hermione Granger' and why do you need my help? That's why you're talking to me, isn't it? To ask me for my help?"

Hermione glanced quickly at Draco, eyebrows raised. He had said that this Holmes man was smart, but this…_this was different_. Draco just shrugged. Hermione looked back at Sherlock and studied him. "It's really too bad you weren't born a wizard," she said taking her wand out of her pocket and twirling it in front of her. "You would have been great." She gave it a small flick in Sherlock's direction and pulled it back immediately. Sherlock's calculating eyes were still, concentrating completely on Hermione. "Although I think that I would have been an extremely jealous rival of yours if you had gone to Hogwarts." A sound like a child's sigh rose up from the air around Sherlock. Draco just barely caught a wisp of fog rising up from the man before it disappeared into Hermione's wand. He wanted badly to touch it.

Since his return, the Ministry hadn't issued a wand to Draco. After Harry Potter had taken his original one back in Malfoy Manor all those years ago, he had used his mother's instead, until that too was taken from him. Once the Ministry decided that the Malfoys, along with many other witches and wizards, would stand trial, their wands were confiscated. From what Draco had learned thus far back in the magical world, he assumed that these wands had been, essentially, "melted down", scavenged for their magic for a community in a time of need. Draco sorely missed owning a wand, but he didn't think he'd be offered one before the year was up.

_Come to think of it_, Draco realized suddenly. _I may not get a wand at all. Only a small number of people still own their wands, with many others holding on to wands completely devoid of magic._ A wand in these times was a rare sight indeed, and only the extremely lucky or the extremely important had consistently working ones at all. Yet, even some of those were dull, their magic not as potent as before the Darkness. Some compared the shift in power to using a butter knife to fence after training all one's life with a sword. Instead of a wand, Draco was permitted to carry around a transi-force handgun, a calling mirror and an enchanted earpiece. But when Draco saw, felt, Hermione's wand just now, these other paltry objects just couldn't compare. Something in the back of Draco's mind warned him to get out of the room, but he pushed it away.

Sherlock was breathing heavily. "What did you do to me?" He asked in between pants. "Dear god," he finally whispered when Hermione calmly put her wand down on the table. "That can't be…it's not real. No, it can't be." Sherlock looked up at Draco, as if expecting an answer but Draco didn't see; he was still gazing longingly down at Hermione's wand on the table. "_Magic?_" Sherlock finally said out loud in a hoarse whisper.

Hermione nodded, smiling. "I am a witch, and that fool of a man over there is a wizard. Our society has lived peacefully beside yours for millions of years." Hermione was sure that a lesser man would have fainted about now and was further impressed with the one before her. She waited until he calmed down. Hermione was in no hurry and was happy to give him all the time to process he needed. It took Sherlock under a minute to soak all the information in.

"Hogwarts is a school that teaches magic which you both attended? Right, yes," Sherlock muttered assurances whenever Hermione nodded in response to his questions. She noticed that it was almost like he was taking notes. "And you use wands, but he doesn't have one, because…there's a problem. You don't like him, no that's not the problem, that's just a fact, but you let him work for you as a…what did you say he was?"

"He is my Number Four."

Sherlock nodded. "Ah, a bodyguard, interesting name for them. So he's your bodyguard, someone to keep you safe, in a position of utmost trust and care, and yet you think of him as lesser than you and he has been forced to live among us non-magic people for eight years." Draco stiffened at that statement. Sherlock noticed but brushed it away.

"Yes, Draco, I did my homework on you, even though I couldn't make sense of it…" Sherlock turned back to Hermione. "So he too is magical, that much is obvious, but he wasn't in your society for eight years. Yet, now you claim he is a wizard." Sherlock paused. Draco almost said something but the man abruptly continued. "Hogwarts! Something happened at school between the two of you."

Hermione looked away, unable to stave off a flood of memories. Draco clutched at his left forearm, eyes unfocused. Sherlock took it all in. He inhaled, understanding. He spoke quietly then, uncertain of how they would react. "It was a betrayal, the ultimate spiritual sin." Hermione closed her eyes and Sherlock nodded. "These traitors are housed in the ninth circle of hell, like Judas and Satan. This treachery has visited you more than once…" the man trailed off, grasping for more but he couldn't. He knew too little about this world he had just been shown. "It was a betrayal that prompted an…exile. And now something has brought him back." He narrowed his eyes: they both looked ashamed and hurt. "Ah…this betrayal has come from you both…"

"That's enough!" Hermione yelled, causing Sherlock to jerk. He hadn't been expecting that reaction. "You do not have the authority to speak to me like that here." Sherlock sensed movement and he looked at the blonde man standing in the corner. Based on the way Draco was looking at Hermione, Sherlock was sure that she was acting out of the usual since the last time the blonde man had seen the woman. _It must have been before when he started living with regular people that he saw her last, _Sherlock reasoned again. So her behavior was out of the ordinary. _But why?_

Sherlock was frustrated, but the feeling was overshadowed by his extreme interest. If only he could bate them into speaking to each other like he wasn't there, then he could really sit back and watch the fun. Normally, Sherlock avoided vapid disputes with the utmost vigor; he cared little for the petty arguments to which the rest of his race felt so inclined. He thought them dull, and a waste of time. But here, here in this magical world, this new _environment_ he had yet to study, Sherlock deduced that a petty argument might be the best way to get answers to his questions. This would bring him leverage and perhaps even give him the opportunity to leave this room and start studying these people. Sherlock began weighing the merit of different questions he could ask while using another part of his brain to re-focus on what the woman was saying.

"I believe that we can harness your vast intelligence for the Ministry of Magic's benefit. This would mean an induction into our society to the extent of which you may help us. If you choose to accept, we will brief you on the case on which we want you to work." Hermione was staring at Sherlock intensely, trying to gauge the man's reaction. She knew he was smart, smarter even than her, and she would have to be careful if she wanted to convince him properly.

Sherlock watched her watch him with some amusement. He knew what she was doing, trying to predict his answer, his next move. Well, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. He was the one in a new world, in a new society, in a low position. He wanted to maneuver himself onto higher ground.

"When did you become such a different person, Hermione Granger? It's obvious that you have much changed since you were a younger, better person. What happened?" Sherlock noted with interest Draco's shift in attention. Apparently the tall man was just as intrigued with hearing this answer as he.

Hermione was shocked. Her mind was hesitating where it normally did not, but only a small part of her brain felt frustrated. She was tired, she was fed up with her work, and she was put-off by the man in front of her, the man who was smarter than she. Hermione was off her game.

Was she a different person? Hermione didn't know; she didn't have an answer. If Timmy were still alive, she was sure that he would have stepped in by now to defend his boss to this strange man who claimed to know everything. But he was gone, dead, and in his absence Hermione had been thinking more and more that maybe Timmy only said the things he did to make her feel better, not because he truly believed them.

Hermione let her mind wander over the past eight years, wondering where she had gone wrong. Every step of the way the Ministry had been behind her, Blaise had been behind her, agreeing with her solutions to problems completely, all of the Ministry working together to try and build a government from the rubble of the corruption that had come before. She traced the scar on her arm that Timmy's metal ID tag had left.

_I had to change, _Hermione thought. "I had to change," she said, suddenly needing to voice her thoughts out loud. "I had to, there was no other way to help the Ministry survive and give the people what they needed. We had to become symbols, archetypes for the greater good…"

"Gods?" Sherlock interrupted with a hint of distain. If Hermione heard the judgment in his voice, she didn't react.

"I know, hubris, I know," Hermione let her head fall forward, curls hiding her face from both men in the room. "But I had to…"

Draco watched with folded arms. He didn't feel bad, she had gotten to live in this society while he had to scrounge at the edge of it. He chuckled darkly to himself. _Not even to scrounge, I couldn't even be near it._ He tilted his jaw up, lifting his nose in an unconscious gesture of distain and arrogance. Sherlock noted Draco's change in posture immediately, but he was getting somewhere with Hermione so he didn't mention it.

"Why did you change?" Sherlock pressed, hoping she would say something interesting. It was boring to just play therapist: he wanted some action.

Hermione stilled, her breathing quiet. Her mind was churning. She knew she had changed, she knew she had to, but why? She had no idea why. Blaise shimmered to the forefront of her thoughts but a shadow passed over him and he was gone. She frowned, thinking harder about Blaise. _Why am I thinking of him?_ She wondered.

"Blaise…?" she muttered aloud. Sherlock leaned forward to catch what she said but the word meant nothing to him. He assumed she was talking about a person. "He's been with me every step of the way, he's the one that supported me and made sure that my ideas for the betterment of our society were pushed through." What she was saying made sense to her, but for some reason his face was in shadow in her mind, the dark shape felt as if it were sticking to parts of her brain, coating them and slowing them down.

She thought back to the day he had strode into her office to convince her to hire Draco. She thought back to previous times where he had visited her: eight years of visits. The dark, sticky substance was there, too, clinging to her memories each time she though of Blaise.

Hermione was a smart witch; she knew it and so did everyone else. She prided herself on her ability to use reason and extensive knowledge to solve problems and to work her mind to the best of its ability. But right now, she felt stupid and slow, as if the sticky stuff in her mind were real. She struggled with difficulty to reach her next conclusion: _Did…Blaise…do this?_ Her struggle with the dark substance was lost as it shoved her thoughts in the other direction.

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing. _No, he hasn't done anything to me._ "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have no more answers for you." Her speech was slow, as if she were coming out of a fog or a daydream. She wasn't sure if she was talking to Sherlock or to her mind. _What had just happened?_

Sherlock felt annoyance curl in his stomach. "Oh but you do…"

...

Draco was bored with listening to Hermione's story and his mind started to wander. As soon as his attention shifted away from the conversation, he began to notice something. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, as if it were stuffed with something. Draco was surprised to note that he was sweating, that he felt hot. He wiped his forehead on his Number jacket sleeve and shook his head to try and clear the dizzy feeling. _Probably a headache_, Draco thought, trying not to think of the other option.

He felt his eye once again drawn to Hermione's wand. She hadn't used it in a while, but he could still feel the hum of residual magic from her last spell in the air surrounding it. He wished he could have his wand back. _Oh no,_ Draco swallowed hard, recognizing the symptoms. _Not here, not now._

It was the same feeling that had come over him back in September, the heavy-hot feeling of magic. Draco looked around, trying to figure out why this was happening. Concrete walls, an industrial-strength door and one, small air-vent on the ceiling that had half it's grates closed. Draco swore to himself: he was in a tiny room with poor ventilation. The magic from Hermione's wand and from her spell to release the muggle bind on Sherlock hadn't yet left the room. The magic was still there, circulating around Draco, building up. He felt nauseous but giddy, his head swimming in circles.

In the past before the Second War, wizards and witches normally dismissed the power that came with handling magic, but would still find themselves objecting if they had to go without or be separated from magic for a long period of time. That was why they felt as if a part of them were missing if their wands got lost, or, Draco quickly remembered from his recent classes, why some had even died when the Shortage started.

The first deaths had been the elderly, some sickly children. No one knew what the cause was until the Ministry of Magic's newly formed Shortage Research Division, in combination with advanced Healer's from St. Mungo's, started to find a connection between the deaths and the Shortage. While they had always known magic and life force had gone hand-in-hand, MOM's wizard "scientists" had only just begun to discover just how connected the two really were.

With all the attention on the Magic Shortage in wizard U.K. society, other magical civilizations around the globe had tried to pitch in to this topic. Draco had heard many a complaint since re-joining the wizarding world that the government should have long ago studied this phenomenon so they wouldn't have been caught so off-guard when the Shortage came. But Draco had also heard the other side to this argument, stating that this knowledge has been around for centuries with wizarding legends clearly highlighting the unique link between magic and the living vessels through which it lives.

The rest of these thoughts left his mind as the magic permeated his body further. Draco took off his jacket and loosed his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. He prayed to Merlin that Hermione wouldn't do any more magic before she concluded the interview with Sherlock, he didn't know if he could keep it together.

...

Hermione sat up straight, snapping the folder on the table shuffling the papers into order, business-like. "No I don't, Mr. Holmes, and even if I did, I will not share them with you. You will be briefed on the case, should you choose to accept it, and nothing else, including the complexities of my mind."

Sherlock sighed and sat back in his chair. He knew when a moment had passed, and he certainly wasn't going to press a clearly high-ranking witch into using magic on him just because he was cheeky.

"Do you accept our offer?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good." Hermione took out a long black object and passed it over the front page in Sherlock's folder. A purple light appeared underneath it, glowing on the paper.

"What is that?" Draco asked. Sherlock looked interested as well and leaned in. Hermione stared at the man until he leaned back. She turned to Draco.

"It's a scanner: a transi-tech device that allows me to copy information on a page. It stores it for later until I can transfer the scan onto my own parchment." Sherlock looked impressed. Draco felt feverish. The room they were in felt smaller than it already was. The edges of his vision darkened. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen: Hermione using more magic, but all rational thoughts were gone from Draco's mind.

He took a step forward. "Can I hold it?" His own voice sounded distant to him and as if it were covered by fluff. The magic was all around him, filling up the tiny room and seeping into his skin. He extended his arm.

"Malfoy, stop," Hermione said. "Don't touch it." She swatted his arm away. Draco looked up at her, frowning. This witch, this woman, was so insignificant at the moment in enraged him to see her act so condescending toward him.

"Don't touch me like that. You can't tell me what to do!" Draco lunged for the scanner. Hermione tried to grab for her wand but it was too late, Draco had knocked into her pushing her off the chair and onto the floor before toppling onto her. "Give me the scanner," Draco said, straining to grab the object. He felt pain crack into the side of his skull and he sat up, releasing Hermione. She had elbowed him in the face. "Damn it, Granger!" he yelled, the pain clearing the fog in his mind for a moment.

Hermione quickly sat up and grabbed her wand that was still on the table. She swung it around her head, muttering a spell. Sherlock watched with interest as the air in the room shimmered before a sucking noise came from the vent above his head. He presumed Hermione had just sent the magic out of the room. He glanced over at Draco who, besides a slight trickle of blood on his temple, looked a lot better. At least, he had his color back.

"Merlin _fuck_ it, Malfoy!" Hermione yelled. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Draco touched his fingers to his head, frowning when he saw blood. His rage flared up inside him again. "Are you serious? What the fuck do you _think_ is wrong? You let all that magic build up in a small room with shit for vents while I'm inside? What did you think would happen?"

Hermione stood up. "I thought that you would be able to control yourself, like the normal, sane person that you're supposed to be now, according to everyone else. I didn't think you'd freak out like that!"

"Really?" Draco yelled, getting to his feet. "You didn't think for one moment that I've been away from magic for eight _fucking _years and a high concentration in only the second month I've been back would have been _a little _distressing to me?"

Hermione stuck her wand out at him. "No, Malfoy, it is not my _job_ to be your fucking babysitter! I'm not thinking about how my actions will effect you on a moment to moment basis."

Draco threw his arms up in the air. "You are literally the stupidest damn witch I've ever met! How the hell you got to be an Alderman, I don't know!"

Sherlock was watching the shouting match with deep interest, his eyes flicking back and forth between the pair when one or the other spoke. He had expected that something would eventually happen between these two, but he hadn't thought that it wouldn't because of him. It didn't matter; the end result was all he cared about. And while he would never admit to it being there, a smile of satisfaction sat upon his lips.

Hermione pointed a finger to her chest. "Because I worked hard and I sacrificed and I gave every ounce of my life to this job to make our world a better place. You should feel lucky to be back in it. You should be grateful that there is even a functioning society that you could have been let back into. I did all that. _I_ did!" Hermione's hair was frizzing, and to Draco, she looked slightly crazy.

Draco took a breath, calming himself down. He pushed his hair back from his forehead with a hand and took a step back. "When did you become insane?

Hermione gasped. "How dare you?"

The door opened at that moment with Carl and Bev peeking in with concern. "Ma'am?" Carl asked, trying to make sense of the scene before him. "Is everything alright? We heard a noise."

"Draco, are you bleeding?" Bev's mouth was open in shock. She wasn't used to seeing her boss so unraveled, and the blood coming from the forehead of her Number Four made everything seem more serious to her. Draco waved her concern away.

"There was too much magic building up in the room and he lost control," Hermione spoke before he could and Draco turned to look at her, surprised.

Carl interrupted. "Again, Malfoy?"

Hermione shook her head, dismissing Carl's statement. "It was my fault for not monitoring the magic levels. He became feverish and he fainted, hitting his head on the desk. He's fine now." Hermione returned Draco's gaze levelly, never wavering or looking at her other Numbers. "That's all. We'll be out in a moment." Hermione dismissed Carl and Bev who quietly closed the door behind them.

Draco broke the stare first. _What was she playing at, covering for me?_ Draco was worried that this may come back and bite his butt in the future. _She'll definitely want a big favor from that one._

The three were left alone in the room once more. Draco picked up his jacket from the floor and blotted his head with it. He knew it looked worse than it was; head wounds bled easier, it was probably just a scratch above his eyebrow.

Hermione gathered herself as best she could. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, you'll have to excuse my bodyguard, he's new." Draco who ignored the barb. "My other Numbers will escort you out and we will be in touch to let you know when you should come in for your briefing. I think it goes without saying that you should refrain from speaking about your little…_encounter_ today with anyone. That includes," Hermione paused, consulting the file folder. "A Dr. John Watson. Am I clear?"

Sherlock looked bored. "Of course." Hermione nodded at his answer and looked at Draco. He looked at her for a moment before he realized she wanted him to go fetch Carl and Bev.

As he left the room, he heard Hermione telling Sherlock to "sign here, and here." He quickly closed the door when he heard her starting to tell Sherlock that she would have to place a magical binding spell on him to echo his paper contract. Draco started when he realized what Hermione had just done. She had silently asked him to leave to fetch Bev and Carl but it was more than that, she had told him to leave the room before she had to conduct any more magic. Silently, professionally, and without placing any further embarrassment on him. Suddenly, Draco felt very foolish for calling her stupid.

Bev was leaning against the opposite wall from the door looking bored when Draco opened it. She immediately stood to attention causing Carl to echo her action in his spot just to the left of the door. "What is it?" Hermione's Number Two asked.

"She wanted me to come get you both, you're to escort Holmes out." Draco stepped out of the room, moving aside to let his co-workers through. "Where's Wes?" Draco asked Bev before she closed the door.

"He went back upstairs after he took the other two MIS officers back to MOM's building security headquarters." Bev shut the door behind her after nodding to Draco.

He decided to wait out in the hallway. Draco covered his eyes with the palms of his hands, rubbing his stress away. He jerked his hands from his face when he felt the sting of the scratch he had on his head. "Fucking Granger," he muttered to himself, any feelings of begrudging goodwill toward his boss vanishing with the pain. He was glad that he hadn't said it a moment later, when Hermione and Sherlock came back out of the door, followed by Bev and Carl.

"So, this is what the Gherkin building is actually used for?" Sherlock Holmes looked around in amazement. Draco stifled a laugh as he watched the man leave the building, escorted by Bev and Carl. He had never dreamed that he would one day see Sherlock Holmes amazed by anything. _But if it were to be anything, magic did seem a good way to amaze someone like him_, Draco reasoned. He felt movement at his elbow.

"I don't know what you think is so funny," Hermione stood next to him, watching her Numbers One and Two leave with Sherlock. "Because your behavior today seriously makes me doubt your capabilities as one of my Numbers."

Draco returned her frown. "Fire me then," he dared, knowing full well that she couldn't. If she did, she would be disobeying a direct order from Blaise, her superior. Draco enjoyed the look that passed over Hermione's face, her features twisting through frustration and annoyance before settling on condescension. _Her default expression_, he noted with his own annoyance. He was getting tired of seeing her like that. He could avoid it when he was at Hogwarts but he had no way of escaping it now.

"I'm obviously not going to fire you," Hermione sighed, breaking eye contact with Draco. She looked tired, then. "What time is it?" she asked, absentmindedly.

Draco glanced down at his watch. "5:30."

"Friday," Hermione said, again in a far-off voice. Draco grunted in response. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath and seemed to shake out of her thoughts. "I have some things I need to collect in my office before I leave." Hermione said, turning to the elevators and not waiting for Draco to catch up. She pressed the call button and the pair waited uncomfortably for the lift to arrive. "I'm sorry for punching you in the face," Hermione said after some silence. The elevator dinged its arrival and the doors opened.

"Technically you elbowed me," Draco corrected as they entered the lift. Hermione stiffened in annoyance.

"I'm trying to apologize here, damn it-"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Draco mollified her. The doors shut and Hermione hit her office floor button. "Thank you," Draco added as the lift began to move. Hermione just gave a short nod, keeping her eyes forward. Draco tried not to fidget in the heavy silence. "And, um, thank you for, you know, covering for me back there."

Hermione turned to face Draco then. "Listen, it wasn't a cover. The next time you physically attack me, I will throw you in jail. I told them you hit your head for the sake of the arrangement with Blaise. But that promise doesn't hold me to overlook assault. Touch me again, and you go down." If he had been able, Draco would have taken a step back.

"Are you serious right now?" He couldn't believe how much of an ass Hermione was being.

"Completely. Malfoy, we are not friends, we are not colleagues, and we are no longer even schoolmates. You work for me as a favor to the highest-ranking man in Ministry save for the Minister himself. Do not pretend that for one instant I would have anything to do with you if it weren't for these circumstances. Get your shit together, do your job, and most importantly, stay away from me. I don't want to have to report you to Blaise at all, it will make me look bad if I do, so keep your head down for both of our sakes, do you hear me?"

It was then that Draco realized that he could probably get away with a lot more than he first thought. Of course, to avoid being reported upon, he knew that he couldn't step over any lines, but here she was basically tell

"What are you smiling at?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. The elevator reached the floor and the doors dinged cheerfully open. "Do you understand what I just said?"

"Completely," Draco sneered down at the brunette as he gestured for her to leave the elevator before him with a flourish. Hermione brushed past and walked into her office, chatting immediately with Wes who had been stationed at his desk outside her door. As Draco brought up the rear into Hermione's office, Wes threw a curious look over his shoulder at the blonde. Draco just shrugged and pantomimed drinking as Wes nodded.

They had a lot to talk about.


	11. Chapter 10 Updated

**Chapter 10 Updated**

**Just some changes in grammar and logistics. I took out a lot of commas because I'm like obsessed with them or something.**

**JK Rowling owns it all, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 10 – Friday, October 21st-Saturday, October 22nd<p>

...

"Wow," Wes whistled when Draco told him the events that had transpired earlier that day. The two were at a local muggle bar, hunkered down over their drinks so no one around them would pick up on any magical jargon. "Wow," Wes said again, and then laughed. "You yelled at her? After she smacked you in the face? You're mad, Blondie." Wes chuckled heartily, smiling at the man next to him.

Draco couldn't help but smile back, it was pretty funny now that he thought of it. "What was I supposed to do? I had just been elbowed in the face by the Alderman herself and I was overwhelmed by the magic." Wes clapped Draco on the shoulder, enjoying the joke. Draco's stomach felt warm and not just with the alcohol. Ever since Wes had been introduced into his life, Draco felt a certain sense of calm whenever they spent time together.

Growing up as an only child in a rich family, Draco had been used to attention; he lived for it. As it was, the wizarding community was already isolating enough, so being an only child in a manor in a remote part of the country Draco had learned only basic social skills. His parents never thought to teach him anything other than niceties and impulse control, and Draco had no other opportunity to learn besides copying the behavior he saw when his parents had other adults over for dinner parties or gatherings.

When it came time for Draco to go to Hogwarts, his physical maturity and intelligence were all on the same level as his peers, but his emotional maturity and social graces were sorely lacking. He found that he related more to the teachers, the adults who were closer to his parents' age. Draco was at a loss on how to make friends in a setting where he was surrounded by children, and not adults.

Thanks to the occasional presence of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle during Draco's early years, he at least knew two children well. They were more than happy to fall into line behind Draco because that's what they were told to do by their parents who did the same thing when around Lucius and Narcissa. Draco was happy enough to have the company and their actions only confirmed his behavior further. The rest of the Slytherins naturally defaulted to following Draco's lead because of who his parents were and their wealth.

Even with his lack of social graces, Draco did possess a raw sort of charisma that attracted the rest of his peers. He was smart, funny and he had the appearance of power. But Draco had no idea that this was why he was popular; he only saw it as the success of his pretentious and bullying behavior. So he kept it up, and the rest of the Slytherins followed because they also didn't know any better

In addition to this, his parents had drilled into his mind, and continued to do so over each of the summer holidays, the importance of their family and blood status. It was ignorance raising ignorance, no one's fault but the perpetual nature of the cycle in which the Malfoy family existed. If raised in hate, a child will believe it, and there was no hope for Draco. These beliefs were challenged at school, but not in the Slytherin common room were Draco's status among his peers was strongest and where his comfort zone was.

This meant that Draco went throughout his Hogwarts years without ever having to work to make friends or knowing how to properly behave. This started to change in his last two years at school, and it had to change all together when he was living as a muggle in exile. But on some level of his subconscious mind, Draco remembered what it felt like to have friends, to have people always surrounding you and listening to you, valuing an opinion or laughing at a story. He remembered how lonely his childhood was and how much better the bustle of Hogwarts felt in comparison.

Draco detested the eight years in muggle London not only because of the lack of magic, but because of how alone he was: it reminded him of his pre-Hogwarts years. While he would never admit this to himself, he still couldn't avoid the feelings that came from his memories.

It was pure luck that Wes had extended friendship to Draco who had taken the relationship without hesitating. It was a real friendship, not just something based on the politics of parents, but even if Draco had known the difference he wouldn't have cared. All he knew was that it felt right to have a friend. He didn't question it; his brain wasn't hardwired to question a friendship. It was always something that he thought came naturally to him because he thought that's how the world worked. Draco was never taught that friendships were a type of relationship, something that needed to be cultivated, grown and valued. To him, they simply appeared, maintained, and he had never learned how to seek them out.

It was fortunate then, that Wes had been so open. On more than one occasion, Draco had missed out on potential friends just because they thought him aloof, uninterested. Those potential friends simply hadn't been they type of person to do a lot of the work. This was one of the main reasons why Draco had been so alone living in the muggle world.

Wes was open, overly friendly, and more than willing to hold up his end of a lopsidedly balanced friendship. The American didn't mind, nor did he think twice on it, for that wasn't how he was raised back in Oklahoma. However, the man was curious and his instincts were sharp, attributes that had led to a career with the American Ministry of Magic. However, if Wes' curiosity had one flaw it was that it was huge, and while he had a fair amount of patience (probably from his mother's side, he always thought) the itch for answers had been building up for some time, and was coming to a head fast. He decided to take a gamble and go for it. Wes was going to get Draco Malfoy drunk.

"What?" Draco asked, noticing that Wes was staring at him oddly.

Wes grinned. "Let's get a couple of shots, Blondie. We need to celebrate your survival after your harrowin' trials this afternoon."

Draco snorted a laugh. "Bring it, Smithy, I promise I can out-drink you any day."

"We'll see about that, first one to fall over loses."

"Deal."

To start, Wes ordered four shots of Jack Daniels and ignored Draco's sneer. "Deal with it, Kid, this is how it's done in 'Merica."

"And this is how it's done in Britain. Cheers, mate." They clinked glasses. As Wes threw the first shot back, he knew that he wouldn't be able to drink at Draco's pace if he still wanted to be able to form sentences. He would have to find some way to dispose of the alcohol if he wanted to get Draco to talk. There was no way that he could out-drink this younger, bigger man next to him. Wes needed to cheat.

"Fifth round's a go," Draco said, grinning. After a double of scotch and three whiskey shots, he was feeling good. Sure, maybe a little more woozy than he should be feeling, but Draco chalked it up to the thrill of competition and took the next shot.

The truth was, Wes had been moving his shots into Draco's glass, using the magic from their Number licensed goods as a loophole around the Timed Magical Suppressant Law curfew. The spell Wes was casting allowed the alcohol in Draco's shot glasses to double in content only, not in size. The magic was simple, and Wes made sure to recycle it back to the mirror and earpieces once the charm was finished. And with the magic being shifted around objects in such close proximity to each other, no one was the wiser.

"If you're feelin' so good, order more. I can keep this goin' all night." Wes felt a little guilty at this point, but it seemed to be working so well he didn't want to stop. If everything went according to his plan, he would finally get the answers from Draco his curiosity so demanded. Plus, a night out drinking with a friend was harmless; it wasn't as if he was manipulating him. _Am I?_ Wes questioned himself. _Maybe I should take a few just to make it fair. After all, in five drinks, he's really had eight…_

Wes ordered two more double scotches for the both of them and drank his honestly, without using magic to move them over into Draco's glass. With that drink, Wes felt confident and happy; it was time to stop playing the game and start asking questions. "Before one of us actually does fall over, I default to you, Blondie, you win."

Draco raised his hands in triumph. "Yes!" he yelled, startling some of the patrons. "Oops," he giggled to Wes. The pair laughed, ignoring the stares of the muggles. "To be honest," Draco slurred. "I've never really liked the taste of fire whiskey, and this muggle drink seems to do the trick just fine."

Wes nodded, "I agree on that front, partner." He was silent for a moment. It was now or never. "I still can't believe you hit Alderman Granger." He eyed Draco, tense and ready for him to jump down his throat. Instead, to Wes' amazement, the man just ordered another drink. Wes waved the bartender away when he turned to him. Wes would be drinking no more tonight; he was amazed by how Draco was stomaching it all.

"Mm-hmm, I can't really believe it either," Draco said, brow furrowed. He thought back to what Sherlock had said earlier that day about how Hermione had changed. "Has she always been like that?" he suddenly asked out of the moment of quiet.

This was it. Wes waited until the bartender finished filling up Draco's glass before continuing. "How do you mean?"

"You know, like…_intense_." That was the only word Draco could come up with. "I can't really put my finger on it, but she's so different from who she was, or at least, who I thought she was. I don't know…" he trailed off into a long sip.

"I probably can't help you there, Blondie. Seein' as I've only been around for about eight months. I don't know who she was before." Wes thought, wading through his thoughts with more difficulty than he thought he should be having. He ignored it. "She's nice enough to me," the American said after a moment. "Great boss, hard sure but she's gotta be, it's the job ain't it?"

Draco nodded slowly, sipping. "Sure, it's the job." A few moments passed before Draco spoke again. "But I mean really, she's so different than before, it's like…I don't know…" Draco trailed off into his drink.

Draco set his scotch down abruptly. "And _where_ is she getting all that magic from? I know the upper-levels of our dear Ministry are allotted more magic than us common folk, but seriously, where is it coming from? And for that matter—what?"

Wes' eyebrows were approaching his hairline. "Damn, Blondie. Now you _have_ to tell me everythin' about you."

Draco finished his drink and rubbed his stomach. But it wasn't the alcohol that was giving him an ache. The problem of Hermione had been bugging him since he started working for her. It hadn't been a problem until earlier that day when she proved to him that she was not only ruthlessly driven, but that she had no care for other people when she was totally focused on the job.

It wasn't what she was like in school. Draco remembered her as a prissy and stuck up, but not a bitch. Draco snorted to himself into his drink. _It's just like at school too, the amount of paper work that woman does and did, even back when…_He set his scotch down abruptly. _Paperwork_. That was it. He needed to look at Hermione's paperwork on his trial filed away in the Ministry's library. He turned to Wes, a dangerous look in his eye. "Dude, we're going to break into MOM tonight."

...

Wes stumbled next to Draco again. "Whoa there, mate, you good?" Draco thrust his shoulder under Wes' to steady his friend.

The American just shrugged him off. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't worry 'bout me," Wes slurred. "Worry 'bout you. What are you thinkin' to do this goin' tonight?"

Draco ignored the man's poorly formed sentence and tried not to cringe. He hadn't meant to get him so drunk, but as soon as he had realized that Wes was doubling up his shots at the bar, he had turned the magic right back on him and caused the cowboy to take the doubles. Using magic again was surprisingly easy, and it thrilled Draco to no end that he remembered how to use it, even without a wand. The mirrors and the earpieces were hardly a substitute for a strong and steady bit of wood.

He had no idea why Wes would want to get him drunk but he assumed it was probably to get him to finally answer all those questions he had been dodging. Draco didn't have a plan when he had turned the magic back on his friend; he had just thought it would be a good joke to catch the man in his own game. But as soon as he realized that Hermione would have stored notes and documents on Draco in her section in the library. The Shacklebolt Administration was meticulous in their record keeping, never throwing away a single scrap of paper.

Draco was a bit concerned for Wes' welfare, but if it meant a simple hangover for Wes and answers for him, he'd take that risk. If his mind was set to get something he wanted, Draco never compensated an inch of his goal for a friend's welfare. When he was younger living in the muggle world dealing with London gangs, he had earned him the nickname "Robot" due to inability to empathize or sympathize. It hadn't bothered him because it didn't occur to him that it should.

The pair made it to the Ministry's muggle entrance within the hour and Draco glanced suspiciously around before dragging the incredibly drunk Wes into a dark alley around the left side of the building. It was still a little too out in the open for Draco's tastes, but it would have to do.

"Stay here," Draco said, hoping Wes was focused enough to listen to the command. Wes gave a sort of half-salute and a chuckle that satisfied Draco for the moment. He ran around to one of the hidden back doors and tapped in the symbols of Hermione's pass code on the invisible keypad. It was mandatory that all of her Number's commit her code to memory in case of an emergency and, according to Draco, this was definitely and emergency.

Once the door was open, he quickly sprinted back to Wes, practically threw the man over his shoulder and entered the building. Before the door closed with a snap, Draco pointed the mirror at the door like he would have a wand, and stole the magic from Wes' earpiece to erase the user history from the door. It was a complicated bit of magic, especially with the small amount of power housed in the earpiece after it had been used for a night of magical drink swapping. Draco was quite proud of himself for pulling it off. Of course, because the magic in the earpiece was so limited, this last spell had completely fried the piece of tech. Draco didn't pause to consider the consequences: if someone were to get in trouble for this night, it wasn't going to be him.

Draco looked down at Wes with a pang of remorse. _Oh come on, _he thought trying to combat the guilt that surprised him. _It's just a mirror, no one will know._ He shook off his misgivings and moved on. If he were to get to the library floor with Wes in tow, all without getting caught, he could afford no stops.

"Come on, you." Draco nudged Wes whose eyelids were drooping slightly. "Wake up, I need you, mate." The American groaned. "I know, but let's just get to the elevator and you can rest." Draco looked around: they were in one of the back passages in the building, made for emergencies and maintenance. There would be no surveillance here. Dodging as quickly and as quietly around corners as he could with Wes dragging behind him, Draco finally made it one of the service elevators.

Pressing the call button, Draco winced at how loud the squeaky gears were; he was positive that the whole building had heard it. While no janitors were hired on Night Shift, plenty of other Ministry workers were in the building at the moment, not to mention the handful of security guards and Numbers working their Night Shift that they had to fulfill once a month.

Wes groaned when the elevator arrived and Draco started to shove him into the box. "No…" the man whined. Draco rolled his eyes and tried again. "No!" Wes shouted this time.

"Fine!" Draco hissed, annoyed. He let Wes slump against the wall and watched him slide slowly down to the floor, snoozing lightly as the elevator doors closed. "I'll come back for you," Draco whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. He hoped that the decision to bring Wes hadn't been a mistake.

The ride up to the library floor was painfully slow and when the doors finally opened, Draco ran to the service exit that would bring him the to the main floor. Skidding to a stop behind a pillar to the left of the main double doors, Draco caught his breath and collected his thoughts. If he were to get in now, he'd need to wait until the next round of security passed. Draco checked his watch, wishing he knew the schedule of the rounds tonight. Finally after a long while, a bored looking Ministry MIS guard passed by the library, leaving Draco's hiding spot unnoticed. Draco rolled his eyes at the incompetence and made to step toward the library entrance when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Draco whirled around and punched.

"Fuck you, man!" a voice cried out: it was Wes.

"Shit!" Draco tried to keep his voice down and he reached out for the man before he fell over and made any more noise. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What am I doin'? What are you doin'?" His breath smelled like vomit. Draco suppressed a groan: Wes' head was clearer now that he had emptied his stomach. "I woke up outside of a service elevator with my earpiece and mirror missing and you were gone. What the fuck are we doing here?" Wes' voice rose to a higher pitch as his stress escalated. Draco tried not to laugh: he had sounded like a teenager. "It's not funny, fuckhead. I heard some security guards on my way up and they're scurryin' around lookin' for someone. I bet us!"

The last came out in the hybrid squeak-whisper that Wes was getting quite good at. Draco looked longingly at the doors to the library, but he knew when he was beat. _It was a half-assed plan anyway._ Draco hadn't even thought through what he would have done once he actually got into the room. He knew that the filing system was elaborate; it had to be to house the extensive amount of paperwork, and he hadn't come up with a way to get to his individual file, let alone how to transport the information out of the building.

He sighed and clasped Wes around the shoulders. The American's head was tipped back and he was pinching his nose, trying to stop the flow of blood trickling from it. "Here's your mirror, it fell out of your pocket in the alley and I picked it up for you."

When Wes didn't take the tech as he was too distracted, Draco shoved it into the man's pocket. "Come on, let's get you home. And don't tip your head back, it doesn't help." The two men managed to exit the building using a different route with as little noise as they could. Draco checked his watch when they were outside: 3 a.m. _It 's going to be a long day tomorrow._

_..._

Wes looked terrible the next morning when he came upstairs to check-in with Carl for their Saturday shift. Draco had already been at the office for a while, arriving before both Wes and Carl, jittery on coffee and nerves. He hadn't been able to sleep when he had arrived home after dropping Wes off at his own place, despite the fact that it was 4:30 a.m. He had lain awake in his bed, thinking. When the answer had finally come to him around 6 in the morning, he had caught a quick twenty-minute nap before forcing himself to get up and shower. Even with his little sleep, Wes still looked worse than Draco.

"Hey," Draco said sheepishly, his only way of apologizing. "How are you feeling?"

Wes glared darkly up at the blonde and grabbed his arm, dragging him to a corner out of Carl's earshot. "Are you serious?" Wes hissed, furious and looking around to make sure no one was looking at them. "Friends are supposed to _trust_ one another, not get the other drunk and break into buildings together. We could have been caught!"

"I may remind you," Draco quickly lowered his voice as an office-aid passed them. "I may remind you that you were the one who tried to get me drunk in the first place to wheedle secrets out of me. So I believe we're even."

Wes was quiet, just staring incredulously at Draco. "Really?"

"What?"

Wes sighed. "We are not even _close_ to being even. I just wanted to hear you're story because I'm _concerned_; you used me for your own mischievous ends. And who even says 'wheedle' anyway?" he added, shaking his head.

"Who says 'mischievous ends'?" Draco countered.

Wes stared up at Draco again before turning and walking away down toward the garage. Draco started to follow. "What are you doing?" Wes cut Draco off before they got to the elevator.

"I'm coming down to the garage with you," Draco said, surprised. He had thought the way he was walking was obvious. "We do that every Saturday."

Wes snorted. "I'll talk to you later, _Malfoy_." The American stalked off, changing his route to the stairs, slamming the door vigorously after him.

Draco frowned. Was Wes _mad_ at him? "Christ," Draco swore borrowing the muggle curse for the occasion. He would deal with that can of worms later, if he knew how. At the moment, however, Draco was only thinking of the scanner stored in Hermione's office and his plan to steal it.

"Get to work, Malfoy!" Carl barked, in a tone that usually would have caused the blonde to jump, instead he just smiled wider. "And wipe that stupid grin off your face.


	12. Chapter 11 Updated

**Chapter 11 Updated**

**Not much changed except for you may want to check out the scene where Hermione gives Sherlock his new mission, I added some stuff there that will be expanded upon in a later chapter. Oh also, I put more in the first section showing more of Blaise's character and the problems with the new Ministry.**

**JK Rowling owns it all, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 11 – Tuesday, November 8th, 11:43 a.m.<p>

...

Hermione coughed. She was in a meeting with the Minister of Magic along with various other assorted important people, including Chancellor Zabini, in whose office the meeting was taking place. Someone was giving a report.

Hermione coughed again, shuddering in disgust when she felt slime at the back of her throat. _I can't be getting sick_, she thought helplessly. _Not now, I don't have time to be ill._ She gladly accepted a glass of water produced by Carl who was standing behind her.

"And what are we going to do about out the riots over in Bramshill?" The question was met with some silence. Hermione sniffed and looked around. Twelve pairs of eyes were looking at her, waiting.

"Oh! Oh, that's me, yes," Hermione scrambled with the papers in front of her. "The, uh, riots are, uh, because of the Timed Magical Suppressant Law," she snatched at a piece of paper before it flew off the desk. "Yes, the inhabitants are upset because more of their magic was diverted to the hospital in Reading. A necessary choice, I might add, it's one of the largest outposts of St. Mungo's we have and it's helped a lot of people since we redirected the magic." Hermione frowned at the sheet of paper. _When did this happen? I don't remember reading this before._ She shook her head as she continued to read the sheet of paper that felt at once both familiar and strange. "I may add that they weren't riots, per say, more like a town meeting where people voiced their opin-"

"That is why we have decided," Blaise Zabini's voice cut in and directed the board members attention away from Hermione. She was grateful when she felt the attention shift; she really wasn't feeling well at all. "To redirect the remainder of their magic to the hospital in Reading for the rest of this month and into December as punishment. And since it's what…November 8th, it shouldn't be too much of a burden. I believe only a small amount of deaths in Bramshill will follow the redirection."

Hermione frowned as she smiled and nodded along with the rest of the board members, but she felt Carl stiffen behind her. _Doesn't he have relatives in Bramshill?_ Hermione wondered.

The meeting concluded uneventfully and Hermione worked to clear her space and gather up her papers that had gotten horribly out of order as quickly as she could. "Carl, I have that thing at noon right? Remind me what it is again?"

"Cancel it, you're clearly not feeling well." Hermione looked up sharply. It was Blaise's voice, not Carl's. "You know, Alderman, you really should get some rest, all this stress can't be good for you. You're practically getting sick every month like clockwork."

Hermione ignored the dig at both her sex and her work ethic with ease. She told herself that Blaise wasn't rude on purpose; his position in the Ministry as well as the way he was raised did nothing for his inferior-superior people skills in the office. She smiled, keeping the gesture away from her eyes. "Yes, perhaps you're right Blaise. Maybe I'll take the rest of the day off."

"The week if you have to," Blaise condescended. "Might as well until all this fuss in Bramshill blows over." He moved from standing behind her to his desk on the other side of the room, away from the large, oval meeting table.

"Actually, Chancellor, I had been meaning to talk to you about that…"

Blaise waved her address away. "Please, it's Blaise. You know that." He eyes searched hers warmly, but Hermione wasn't in the mood.

Right, well, I was meaning to say that two months is a very long time and those people over in Brams-"

"That will be all," Blaise interrupted again, dismissing all of the Numbers in the room, including his own. Hermione nodded at Carl and Bev who reluctantly left their boss. "Now," Blaise stated, settling into the chair behind his desk and opening up a file full of fresh paper work. "What did you need to tell me?"

Fed up with interruptions, Hermione came right out with it, hoping to say what she needed to before the sneeze she felt coming on hit her. "Two months is far too long for a village to be without magic. Besides, we can't start taking magic away as punishment for a town meeting, even if it will benefit a hospital. People will die without their magic. The Ministry can't become judge, jury, and executioner and that's what you're making it and I won't let you."

Blaise was quiet a moment, his pen strokes on paper making the only sound in the room. Finally he looked up, a benign smile on his face. "Of course, you are right, Alderman Granger. Now will you please go home and get some rest? I don't want our best out of work longer than she needs to be. Go home, sleep, and I'll take care of it."

Hermione thought that may have been too easy but now her stomach was starting to make funny noises and she couldn't wait to just be at home. "Thank you sir, I will, sir." She turned to leave.

"And Hermione," Blaise called out before she could leave. She turned, surprised at how menacing his tone was. But when she met his eyes, he was all friendliness. "Do come see me when you get back. I'll want to discuss what you will have missed."

Hermione bobbed her head and exited. _Did I just freaking _curtsey_? _She shook her head and blamed her sick-fogged mind, but she was sure that Blaise had almost threatened her, and he might have done it before…

"Here," Hermione dumped her papers and portfolio into Bev's arms. The two Numbers had sprung to attention immediately when their boss had come out of the door. "Get my car ready, I'm still going to that thing at noon. Where did Ginny say she'd meet me?"

...

Hermione coughed. "Oh, Hermione, that sounds terrible, are you sure you're alright?" Hermione wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked at her redheaded friend.

"I'm fine," she managed to say before another cough hit her. She noticed that Ginny moved the tiniest bit away from her. Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She knew what Ginny was worried about the baby but Hermione knew when she was too sick to be around people, and she hadn't reached that threshold yet.

The two were waiting in line at a muggle coffee house near the entrance to Diagon Alley. Ginny had been surprised when Hermione had called her earlier in the week wanting to set up a get-together. Surprised but pleased. Maybe now her friend had finally decided to slow down on work and pay attention to her friends again. Ginny could hope.

They squeezed into a cozy booth near the back of the coffee shop when they got their drinks, backs turned to the table behind them that seated Carl and Bev. "What did you want to talk about?" Ginny asked, sipping her latte. "You sounded anxious over the mirror."

Hermione looked around, checking to see if anyone was looking their way. "I wanted to talk to you about something serious having to do with my work." Hermione looked around again, stalling for time.

"Tell me!" Ginny burst out, not sure if she was annoyed or excited. "You've built the suspense enough. What is it?" Hermione never wanted to talk about work, well, she never wanted to talk at all, but still Ginny knew that this must be serious.

"I think there's something bad going on with the Dark Pockets."

"Duh, everyone knows that," Ginny was disappointed, that was news from eight years ago.

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing, eyes wide. "No, listen. Something else. Something with the Ministry." Hermione had Ginny's attention now. "You remember that awful weather we had back in August, around my birthday? Well, I had the weather bugs at the Ministry analyze the atmospheric patterns and they linked it to a Dark Pocket up in Manchester. When the Pocket broke, so did the weather, and a power surge followed at the exact time when that man attacked me."

Ginny felt uncomfortable. Everyone had felt the magical surge that night and most were surprised when a report came out detailing the events of Hermione's freak attack. But few, Ginny one of them, knew just how it affected Hermione personally. "So? What does this have to do with the Ministry?"

Hermione looked around again, checking to see even if her Numbers were listening. That surprised Ginny. They were supposed to be her most trusted employees. "Listen, Ginny, I'm telling you this because I trust you implicitly and because you know me the best." Ginny had her doubts on that fact ever since Hermione had thrown herself into her career but she didn't say anything now.

"But this is going to sound crazy, so I want you to bear with me," Hermione continued, unaware of Ginny's thoughts. The brunette frowned and clutched her head. "I think someone at the Ministry is trying to control me." Ginny's eyebrows shot up.

"What? That can't be true!" She lowered her voice when Hermione shushed her, Ginny hadn't been aware of how loud she had spoken. "Who is it?"

Hermione pushed her hair out of her face nervously. "I…I don't know, every time I think about it I get these awful headaches-" As if on cue, Hermione clutched at her head, trying not to make a scene.

"Hermione?" Ginny hissed. "Are you okay?"

The older woman waved away her friend's concern. "I'm fine, Ginny. I'm sorry to scare you, but I need you to deliver this message to Harry," Hermione paused and took a breath. "I want you to tell him to open a Ghost File."

Ginny was stunned. She knew the importance of Ghost Files. "To investigate who? You?" The pregnant redhead started to feel hysterical. "Merlin Hermione, this feels unreal."

"Just please say you'll do it?

Ginny nodded. "Of course, anything for a friend, but why now? How did you find out?"

Hermione sipped at her drink, as mystified on this account as Ginny was. "I don't know, but recently, I've been observing…shadows in my mind. I think they've been there for a while but for some reason, I'm just now aware of them. It's like I can see bits of sun through clouds that I've never noticed before…" Ginny looked anxious and Hermione smiled, shaking off her thoughts. "It's nothing to worry about, Ginny, I promise. Just please tell Harry."

"I will, I'll tell him tonight." Ginny's brown eyes were wide.

"And not a word to any-"

Ginny interrupted her friend with a look. "I know how to be sneaky, Hermione."

The brunette gave a small chuckle. "I forgot." The two women finished their drinks quickly; both eager to leave the coffee shop behind, for it now had an unpleasant association in their minds.

"Where to now, ma'am?" Carl asked Hermione gently as she exited the building.

Hermione drew a deep breath. "Back to the Ministry." Hermione watched Ginny walk off down the street in the opposite direction. She could hardly tell that the woman was pregnant from this angle. Hermione smiled lightly and Bev ushered her into the car. "Thank you Bev," Hermione said to her Number Two who smiled and shut the door. _What was I supposed to ask Ginny again?_

...

Hermione coughed. She was back in her office after the coffee with Ginny she hardly remembered. Sherlock Holmes sat across from her and was giving her a report on something that she really should be paying attention to.

"Your transi-tech is really amazing you know. I've started to talk to your MAG people about introducing a more elaborate computer system into your daily lives. Medical devices and weapons aren't the only thing that you can advance in your magical society. I know you all think you have as much 'muggle' technology as you think you need, but nothing compares to the Internet." Hermione nodded along with his monologue, wondering when he was going to get to the point.

"Anyway," Sherlock continued. "I've concluded my investigation in Russia, and I'm very sure that they weren't the ones that killed Mr. Glovich in York on the 2nd. However, if you let me stay around here a little longer, I'm sure that I would perform better after learning a little more about your society. Even learn to use a little magic?"

Carl snorted. Hermione sat back in her chair, covering her eyes with her hand. "Impossible, Mr. Holmes. You're either born with it, or you're not. And it seems that you were born with the gift of intelligence so great that there was no room left for magic." Hermione let the room sit in silence for a moment before she turned to Carl, dropping her hand from her eyes.

"Chancellor Zabini has made it clear that he wants to work on the 'riot' situation. He's also made it clear that he wants me out of this office before I infect us all, but I'm not going to do that." She looked around at Bev. "I think I will go home early today, please radio Wes for the car. However," she turned back to Carl. "I plan on getting a good night's rest and I will be in tomorrow to work on this problem even if the Chancellor thinks otherwise. I don't like his attitude approaching this one. I need you to stay on this afternoon, that's an order. Watch Zabini's office, something strange is going on there," Hermione paused, her mind going fuzzy again. "I think..." she trailed off.

Carl nodded, noting something on his portfolio paper pad. "And you," Hermione said, turning finally toward Sherlock, sliding him a folder. "I need you to take a trip up to these coordinates and follow the instructions contained in this file. Report all that you see directly to me when you return and write nothing down." Hermione slid a separate piece of paper across her desk to Sherlock. "Also, I'll need you to contact this man when you get back. I suggest you pick up this book to do some research on his history in our world before you visit him." The man accepted his files with a satisfied look on his face, knowing that Bev and Carl were dying to know what was contained within the sheets of paper. Hermione noted again how much the man looked like a dragon. "Burn everything I've given you when you've committed it to memory."

"I will, Alderman. And may I say, you're looking terrible this afternoon?"

Hermione's mouth twisted into a smile at the man. "That is all, Mr. Holmes." Hermione stood up to see him go and to prove that she, in fact, was feeling fine. But once on her feet, she regretted the decision as she swayed into a faint.

...

Draco looked around trying to be inconspicuous, knowing full well that he looked like a very tall, suspicious blonde who should be somewhere else. He was right near the entrance to the stairs, at the far end across the floor of Hermione's offices, lurking around the fire alarm. He had seen enough of the contraptions in the muggle world not to be surprised when he saw them show up in his world, and he was too calculating to let the alarm's potential go to waste.

A small voice in his head had been asking him if this really was his plan ever since he had hatched the idea. He ignored it furiously now, as this was his only chance. Hermione had just come back from some lunch date with a friend or something and she wasn't looking too happy. _Better just to pile on the bad to overwhelm her so she's not even thinking about me when this happens._

Draco's plan was to pull the fire alarm, move everyone out of the office, then slip into Hermione's room and steal the magical scanner to use in the Ministry's library. Draco had been quite pleased with himself when he had come up with the plan. It had taken him a little over a week to locate exactly where Hermione kept the scanner, and for him to familiarize himself with how to use it. It was the only transi-tech device he knew of that could help him easily move information on his trial out of the library without removing a single slip of parchment.

It had also taken him the better half of that planning week to put it all together, but he wasn't too worried. Wes giving him the silent treatment had distracted him but, as he promised himself constantly, _he'll talk to me again, he has to_.

Draco looked around again. No one was paying attention to him. He repressed a snort. It certainly showed still how unprepared the magical world was in Homeland Security, regardless of how many classes they held over at the MDPA training facility, nothing beat experience; experience that the muggle world, and Draco, had. If he had been sitting at a desk, Draco knew he would have already hauled anyone lurking around the stairwell in for questioning. He thanked Merlin that no one like him was paying any attention.

Turing around once more, Draco took a deep breath, extended his arm up to the alarm, and…the sound of pounding feet stopped him. Someone had shouted from behind a door and he looked up. The noise had come from Hermione's office. He hesitated a moment, looking at the fire alarm, before abandoning his plan. Cursing under his breath, Draco joined a few people that had come running at the sounds of alarm.

He pushed through the small crowd and was about to open Hermione's office door when it swung open itself. A very worried looking Carl was on the other side of the door, holding a groggy Hermione in both his arms. "What happened?" Draco asked, looking first at Bev and then Sherlock, both behind Carl. Sherlock looked bored.

"She collapsed, she's sick and she's running a fever," Bev summed up, glaring at the bystanders who quickly dispersed. Draco rolled his eyes. Leave it to Granger to make everything more dramatic than it was. "We're taking her home," Bev added, coming out of the doors, shooing people away from Hermione. "But I have to teach a class tonight and Wes has a Night Shift."

"I'll watch her tonight," Draco said, probably a little too quickly. If he could steal this opportunity to play the "White Knight", he would look good and be one step closer to that promotion he needed. _Besides, she might have an extra scanner at her flat_. Draco noticed a shift in movement out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock was staring at him. Draco tried to ignore the gaze, doing his best to look sincere.

Carl glared at Draco for a moment before carrying Hermione into the elevator, nodding his head at Bev for her to follow. He didn't like not knowing the motives behind Draco's actions. "Fine, but keep your earpiece in and your mirror near you at all times."

As a Number One, Carl didn't have the luxury of getting sick, and Hermione had given him an order to stay at the Ministry and watch Chancellor Zabini's office. He didn't want the Malfoy snot anywhere near Hermione, but what choice did he have? "What are you waiting for? Get in." Carl nodded to Draco to get in the elevator and the blonde edged in next to Bev before the doors closed on a very knowing face with slanted eyes.


	13. Chapter 12 Updated

**Chapter 12 Updated**

**Okay, so I changed a lot of Draco and Hermione's interaction when she's dealing with figuring out that when Draco's around, she feels...well you remember/you'll see. But yeah, now it makes a lot more sense why she...and why he...well...just read it, okay? :3**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12 – Tuesday, November 8th, 6:45 p.m.<p>

...

"I really think I should go over and check on her," Ginny tasted the sauce Harry was stirring on the stove and smiled at the look he gave her. Harry was annoyed that his wife had stuck her finger in his creation.

"That's our dinner you know and if you keep eating it before it's ready, there won't be any left," Harry glared at his wife, but his tone was playful. He was so excited that she was pregnant again, and he let his mind briefly wonder about the sex of the baby. _Maybe a girl? If it's a girl, we have to name her Lily, but I don't know if it's a boy. We'll have to think about that one._

Ginny was talking, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "What?" the wizard asked.

His wife smiled playfully at him. "Are you listening to me? I'm going to go over tonight to check on her, she just sounded so awful today when we met for coffee." The couple both refrained from mentioning the Ghost File. After Ginny left the coffee shop, she had walked straight to Harry's office and had chatted jovially with her husband while slipping him a note that detailed what Hermione wanted. Harry had kept up the shallow conversation, all the while keeping his face straight as he read the note, committed it to memory and then destroyed it.

Ginny kissed Harry on the cheek after they ate dinner. "See you later." She blew a kiss to James, still messy, sitting in his high chair. The baby gurgled with pleasure and gave a little wave. The November night air was cool, with a bit of a nip to it and Ginny was glad that she decided to take a scarf. The packaged pasta and sauce kept her hands warm on her walk to Hermione's. The apartment was a fair distance away from Ginny and Harry's flat, but the redhead reveled in the exercise and the quiet time with herself.

Pregnant, she had excused herself from the Hollyhead Harpies for the rest of the season, but she missed the workouts with the team. Adding on the extra baby weight did nothing but annoy her, so the walk was exactly what she needed. Daydreaming about the baby and running her mind through chores and other miscellaneous topics, Ginny arrived at Hermione's flat quicker than she thought.

There wasn't a Number car parked out in front, but Ginny guessed that there might still be one inside; maybe Wes had dropped one of them off. _Carl, maybe, or Bev?_ Ginny let herself with the extra key Hermione had given her three years ago when she needed Ginny to check in on the flat while she was in Romania. Ginny thought of the other Number that could possibly be there and shuddered. _Why Hermione would ever agree to hire him is beyond me_.

The elevator was warm, and Ginny unwrapped her scarf from her neck. She checked the box with the pasta, hoping that it hadn't cooled down too much from the walk over. The elevator door dinged open and Ginny fumbled with all of her belongings. Hands full, she quickly let herself into Hermione's apartment, not even bothering to turn on a light-orb. She knew where the counter was even in the dark and she the pasta box was slipping.

Ginny put everything down on the counter and tugged off her coat, noticing out of the corner of her eye a light was on down the hall in Hermione's bedroom. _That makes sense, _Ginny thought. _She's probably in bed._ She walked toward the room, smiling at the books lining the hallway. "Hermione, how are you feeling?" Ginny called out before she reached the door that was ajar. "I brought you some pasta if that's ok, Harry made the sauce but, surprisingly, it's good-what in the _fuck _are you doing here?" Ginny shrieked in surprise at the man sitting in the chair next to Hermione's bed.

Draco didn't flinch when Ginny entered the room but he was surprised to see her. He had heard her voice as she come down the hall, but he hadn't recognized it. Draco had been rummaging through Hermione's desk in the front room when he heard someone fumbling with keys outside the door. Scrambling, he doused the light-orbs and sprinted into Hermione's room, where he was supposed to be anyway.

Once he collected himself, Draco swore under his breath. This person could be a potential threat. He didn't really think so as they had used keys, but Draco cocked his transi-force and pointed it at the door just in case. When he heard the voice of a female using familiar tones, Draco had relaxed and put the gun away.

"I'm working, Weasley. What are you doing here?" Draco found it easy to take on his old, haughty tone even though he had been taken by surprise. Slipping back into his old attitude was easier for him when he was around his former classmates. Draco studied the woman in front of him.

She was yet another person whom he hadn't seen in eight years and he was still taken aback by all the time that had past. Ginny's hair had darkened and there were a few small lines around her eyes and mouth. He noted that she was pregnant, but he wasn't surprised. He almost made a joke about Potter getting down to business, but he kept his mouth shut.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She had seen him study her but she wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't believe how much he had changed. He was much taller than she remembered, even sitting down in a chair she could tell that if he stood up, he would tower over her. His body had filled out from lanky boyhood to well-muscled adulthood. His face was the same, jaw maybe a little fuller. But his eyes…Ginny couldn't place what emotion haunted Draco's stone grey eyes, but whatever it was, it was powerful. "I came to check on her, I brought her dinner, pasta with-"

"Sauce?" Draco interrupted. "Yeah, I heard."

Silence stretched between the two like a rubber band: awkward and tense. It snapped when Hermione groaned lightly and turned over. Ginny immediately moved to her, choosing the side of the bed opposite of Draco. She tended to Hermione, checking her forehead with the back of her hand, tucking in her sheets, all the while continuing to study Draco through lowered lashes.

Draco pretended not to notice. He leaned back in the chair and relaxed into his arms folded behind his head. He put his feet up on the side of Hermione's bed. Ginny glared at the motion but Draco just shrugged. Her bed was big enough for his feet. Besides, his shoes were off and he wasn't touching her. "So when are you going to leave?" Draco asked, curious. He needed to get back to searching Hermione's desk.

Ginny blushed, growing angry. "When I feel like it." The pair glared at each other over Hermione until she groaned again. Ginny shifted her attention away from the blonde. "Has she eaten anything? Drank anything? Have you given her water?"

"No, she won't eat. But she has been drinking some water."

Ginny nodded. "Hydration is crucial for any sickness. The body just fights everything off better if it's well hydrated."

"Like I said," it was all that Draco could do to keep the venom out of his voice. "She's had some water."

" 'Some' is not a lot and 'some' is not enough!" Ginny snapped.

Draco tried his very best not to roll his eyes. He didn't need this thing screeching at him. "Listen, Weasley, I'm not incompetent. I do know how-"

"It's actually Potter now, technically," Ginny interrupted, not wanting to hear him drawl on any longer. Hearing his voice was uncanny. It was deeper, older than sounding with the nasal tone gone, but the way he pronounced his words was exactly the same as he had at Hogwarts.

Draco snorted at her distinction of her new last name. "Whatever." He let the word hang there as he flipped open a book, snatching a random one from the many choices on Hermione's bedside table, and flipped through it lazily. Ginny huffed a sigh and made her way to Hermione's bathroom in search of a damp cloth.

The pair kept on in silence for a while, Ginny fretting over Hermione. Finally he couldn't help it, Draco spoke; "Look, she's not that bad, it's just a cold. I'm a highly trained Number and I am fully capable of looking after her for one night."

Ginny didn't say anything. It wasn't just a cold she was worried about. After the whole thing with the Ghost File and the cryptic messages that Hermione had been sending her over coffee and now the sickness, the redhead couldn't help but think that it was all connected. Growing up and living in certain times had taught her to be a bit more paranoid than she normally would have been but she couldn't tell _Draco Malfoy_ any of that. She turned away from him, wringing out the cloth into the bowl.

"I said, I got it," Draco repeated in a sharper tone. What was the point of Ginny staying? Was it a test? He just wanted her to leave so he could find something useful in Hermione's apartment. And if Ginny stayed, he would have to share the role of the caretaker and then he might not get brownie points.

"Have you noticed anything strange lately?" Ginny's voice was so quiet, so small, that it surprised even her. Her mind went blank, an odd feeling coming over her. _Maybe he didn't hear me; maybe I can just forget this…_

"What?"

_So much for not hearing me._ "You know, weird stuff going on at the Ministry?" Ginny was still holding herself completely still, afraid to move as if even the slightest twitch of a muscle would break whatever it was that had taken a hold of her. She couldn't believe that she was asking this man next to her these things but as soon as she had, a slight pressure had gone from her chest.

" 'Weird stuff'? You've lost me" Draco stared at the woman across from him. What was going on?

Ginny Potter felt small sitting there on the bed next to Hermione. She watched her friend breath in and out as she slept, her brunette hair twisted around her head. Her best friend…Ginny wondered briefly if talking to Malfoy was a betrayal.

Ginny suddenly stood up and walked over to where Draco was sitting, sticking out her chin stubbornly. She glared down at Draco, her voice trembling with passion, "If you let her get hurt…if you _fuck up_ for one moment…I _swear_…"

"That you'll avenge her, kill me, yeah, yeah, I know. She's not going to die or anything, unless someone kills her." What was going on? Draco had no idea how to act, and the sudden shift in mood had caught him off-guard. He retreated to his default, rough attitude, subconsciously throwing up a wall to protect himself from unknown social cues.

Ginny's eyes grew wide with shock. She was partly mad at herself for even thinking that she could trust such a man but she took it out on him. "I don't believe it. How can you say shit like that? How can you be so heartless, so cruel? I thought that you might have changed, grown up, I figured something in you would have to had shifted in order to get Hermione to hire you but-"

"Look, if I had wanted a woman to nag at me, I would have gotten married."

Ginny looked repulsed. "As if anyone would have you," she muttered as she turned to leave. Draco just sat back down in the chair next to Hermione's bed, propped his feet up again and shrugged. Maybe that much was true, but he just wanted her out of the apartment. Ginny checked on Hermione one last time before walking to the door to the bedroom. "Just make sure she doesn't progress into a fever."

Draco saluted. "Have an _excellent_ evening, Madame Potter," he said scathingly. Ginny stiffened in rage before slamming her way out of the apartment. Draco raised his eyebrows at a sleeping Hermione. "Now, is that any sort of way to behave in a hospital? Some people are sick here," Draco chuckled darkly. _Great, now I'm having imaginary conversations with my boss who hates me._

His mind wandered back to what Ginny had said, and Draco rubbed his forehead, an action he did more frequently these days. "Weird stuff", "strange happenings at the Ministry'"…it sounded like a bad crime novel to him. But he thought, hard. The strangest thing he had noticed was the people. Once he had gotten over the fact that there was a shortage of magic, Draco had noticed odd things that no one else seemed to question. Perhaps it was his eight years away from the society that left him with a fresh perspective, but no one had yet given him a satisfactory answer of what exactly happened after the war.

"Strange things"? Sure, he had noticed them, questionable surges in magic, Hermione's behavior, and the apathetic way the rest of the wizarding world just seemed to accept everything that the Ministry said and did. Except for one person, _Ginny had noticed._ She had even brought it up with Draco, all the while looking like she was scared shitless. _What did she know?_ He wondered.

...

After about an hour of flipping through another couple of books and wondering if Hermione was ever normal enough to pick up a few works of fiction once in a while, he walked down the hall into the kitchen in search of a beer. He wasn't surprised when his search came up empty. He sighed, and leaned his back up against the countertop, palms behind him, supporting his weight.

A sharp pain coursed up his right hand. Draco lifted his palm off the counter to discover that the offending objects were keys. Ginny had used them to unlock Hermione's apartment but in her haste to leave she had forgotten them. Draco picked the key ring up, counting four keys. Draco brought the set over to the handle and tested the biggest one out: a perfect match. But what were the other three keys for? What other kind of keys would you give your friend in an extra set? His heart dropped to his stomach when he figured it out. _Hermione's desk._

Trying not to shake with excitement, Draco practically ran to the desk, situated on the opposite side of the flat from the kitchen. It was a large piece of furniture, antique looking and full of drawers, nooks, and crannies. It had to be important if Hermione had bothered to create an extra set just for Ginny to carry around. Yes, something was definitely in one of these drawers, and he knew he was sure to find at least one keyhole that would yield to one of the keys if the locks weren't spelled.

Sticking them into every drawer he could find, he soon ruled out two of the leftover three. One was left. He held it up close to his face. "Alright, it better be you or I'm going to feel really stupid talking to a key…" At this point, Draco didn't honestly even know what he was looking for. The promise of something, _anything_, kept him going. He tried the first drawer, and it didn't budge.

What was he looking for? He didn't want to think about it, but deep inside he knew the only thing he was looking for, the only thing he wanted, were answers. Answers to questions he had been longing for, questions that he didn't even know he had, and to ones that he even may not want answered. He just wanted something.

The next drawer wouldn't yield either. With each failed attempt, his frustration grew, and he channeled his mounting rage into the activity: each new jab of a key into a drawer echoing in his head with a question.

_What happened before my trial? What made her cry like that? What happened to the magic? What happened to my world? What happened to everyone?_

He tried one of the remaining drawers at the top of the large, antique desk.

_What happened to me?_

Draco tried to calm down. "What are you for?" he growled at it. Draco jammed it in the next keyhole and tried to open it by brute force, but it didn't work. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands away from his forehead. _I need a haircut_, he thought, somewhere in the back of his mind.

Draco sat down in the chair and laid his head on the desktop as if it were a pillow. He felt tired, overwhelmed by the disappointment of the key. Draco's eyes met an ornate music box, centered near the back part of the desk. He admired the gold edging to the dark, rich wood, and the delicate carving of the decorative features. It looked expensive, and Draco wondered idly where Hermione had gotten it.

_Weasley couldn't have gotten that for her, not even for a Christmas present, it's much too fine, even with his new salary._ Draco let his mind wander to the redheaded man. He hadn't seen Ron since his return from exile, nor did he particularly want to. Since getting back into society, Draco had heard about Ron and Hermione's 'falling out', as it was politely called around the office. Draco was sure that running into a foul-tempered Ron Weasley, especially one whose temper had been allowed to fester over the course of several years, was a fate he wanted to avoid.

So who had given her the music box? _Potter, maybe. I _know _he's rich enough to afford a pretty little thing like this. It probably even has a little gold key to match the lock…_

A noise came from Hermione's room. Draco immediately jumped up and jogged down the hallway, noiselessly padding into her room with professional ease. His trained mind berated himself for not thinking of the dangers of leaving her alone and unprotected, lying sick in her bedroom. A quick sweep of the room turned up nothing suspicious and Draco relaxed, but only slightly, thinking of how close he could have come to letting Hermione get hurt. _Or worse, I could be fired if anything happened._

"Timmy?" Hermione's voice was weak, but loud enough to shake Draco from his thoughts. He looked down at the witch, trying to discern if she had actually said something. He was about to leave the room to go check the perimeter of the living room when she said again, "Timmy?"

Draco moved to the edge of her bed, slowly. He looked around, as if embarrassed someone would catch him talking to his sickness-addled boss. "Er, what?"

Hermione's eyelids fluttered, her hair damp on her forehead. Draco cringed. When had she developed a fever? There was nothing he could do now. She repeated that name again and Draco's brow furrowed. He grabbed the bowl Ginny had used to wipe her forehead earlier. The water wasn't as cool anymore, so he moved to the bathroom to exchange it for a fresh bowlful.

Dumping it out in the sink and letting the faucet fill up the dish, Draco's eyes met his reflection. What was he doing here? He should really call Bev to take over, the "Knight in Shining Armor" ploy was done with for sure, or if it wasn't, this certainly wasn't worth it anymore. He hadn't found an extra scanner and the keys weren't yielding anything fruitful. _Maybe I should call Wes_…his eyes met his own in the mirror again and he jumped when cold water touched his fingers; the dish was overflowing. He quickly shut off the faucet and went back to Hermione's bedside. Hesitating now, Draco hovered near the edge of the mattress.

He sat on the chair next to the bed and tried to reach over to place the wet towel on Hermione's forehead, but his reach wasn't long enough and she was too far away from the edge. Draco groaned. He stood up and hesitated again, looking at the empty space on the mattress. "It's not a big deal!" he told himself sharply. He tapped his foot and cracked his neck nervously and then gave up.

He gingerly sat on the bed; clenching tight all of his muscles as if that would make him lighter and the mattress wouldn't ease into his weight so much. "First date, eh, Granger?" Draco said through gritted teeth and a twisted grin. He lightly placed the cloth on her forehead and left it there, quickly withdrawing his arm. A droplet formed and dripped away from the washcloth down into the corner of her eye. She blinked and stirred.

"Malfoy?" Hermione said, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

He really wished she hadn't woken up. The blonde started, quickly jumping up from the bed and moving to the chair. He was sure he looked very foolish. "I'm, uh, taking care of you?" He felt like an idiot, posing his answer like a question.

"Oh," was all she said, eyes half lidded in sickness, watching him. The light-orbs dancing overhead made them glisten in their bobbing light, and Draco felt like a crocodile was stalking him. Thinking back to what Wes had done to him, Draco suddenly felt confident. If he asked questions while Hermione was sick, maybe he could finally get some answers. He cleared his throat nervously, "Er…Alderman Granger?"

Hermione interrupted, unknowingly bursting his bubble. "Don't call me that, please, not you."

"Why not? That's your name."

She turned her head away, the damp washcloth still on her forehead. "That's not my name. I hate what it's come to stand for. Don't call me that, not you, not you who knew me from before."

Draco tried not to sigh at her drama. "Well, if you're done being moody, will you hand me the washcloth? It should be wrung out." Hermione handed Draco the washcloth from her head and watched him, following his movements as he wrung the cloth out over the bowl and dipped it in, finding cooler water. She let out a tired laugh when he handed the cloth to her to be placed back on her forehead. "Taking care of me? You, _Malfoy_, taking care of me? Hilarious." But her tone lacked mirth.

Draco was annoyed and he set the water bowl down on the nightstand with a loud _clink_. " It's not like I _want _to be here, but no one else was available and even if you wanted me to go, I can't. At least one Number needs to be here-"

"At all times to protect a high-ranking Ministry official. Yes I know, I wrote the law myself." She sounded disgusted with her words. Silence descended upon them before Hermione turned to look at Draco. "I thought I told you to stay away from me?"

Draco set his jaw. "Yeah, well, too bad for you getting sick. Which, for the record, is not my fault, so don't get angry at me." He held out his hand to take the washcloth back. Hermione passed it over and her fingers brushed his palm. Draco quickly drew his had away in case she was offended. "Sorry," he said brusquely. Hermione was staring at him strangely. "What? Are you feeling worse?"

"Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember Hogwarts at Christmas?"

Draco tried not to let out a nervous laugh. "What? Where did that come from?"

Hermione let her gaze turn away from Draco and wander off into memory. "You know, when it was all decorated?"

"Yeah…I remember," Draco admitted slowly, unsure where this was headed. Hermione suddenly turned and looked back at Draco.

"That was weird," she mumbled, her eyes searching his face but her words not meant for him. It was as if she were taking notes for later. Draco looked around uncomfortably.

"Er…what is?"

Hermione turned her head away from him. "Nothing. It was…I thought…nothing, never mind."

Draco sighed. Listening to Hermione ramble was getting him nowhere. He could feel his opportunity to get answers slipping away. If he wanted to know something, he'd have to come right out and ask for it. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down, trying to decide how best to approach the subject. "Alder-Granger," Draco corrected himself at the last minute. "Speaking of weird…" but he was interrupted.

"It's getting worse, Timmy," Hermione said. Draco looked back at the woman, her eyes were glassy and she was sweating more. And there was that name again. _Is it the fever?_ Draco didn't know what to do, but Hermione's voice kept going distracting him from making a decision. "The shadows in my mind are lengthening, fingers groping at me…I feel controlled…I feel sick. Am I doing this, or is it someone else?"

_Oh dear Merlin, my boss is insane_, Draco looked around the room, as if a healer from St. Mungo's would suddenly appear and take over. From his chair next to the bed, Draco reached over and patted Hermione awkwardly on the arm. "It's…alright…" He couldn't think of anything else to say.

She inhaled sharply, coming out of her haze. Draco jumped back, startled and upsetting the washcloth and bowl on the nightstand. Hermione sat bolt upright. "Malfoy!"

"Yes?" Draco held himself as if prepared for a physical blow.

"What did Ginny tell you?" Her gaze was fierce upon him. _So she had been awake then,_ Draco thought.

"She asked me if I had noticed anything strange at the Ministry. But I didn't do anything I swear." Draco mentally slapped himself on the side of his head. _Why did I say that?_

Hermione seemed not to notice. "There is something strange. Don't just think this is the rant of some sickness; this is me telling you that there is really something wrong with the Ministry. I know it, you know it: we can feel it."

Draco had no idea what was going on. He grasped desperately for a lifeline into the conversation, which was acting like a jerk. "Listen…Granger, I don't know what you're trying to tell me, but whatever it is, can it wait until Bev, or Carl gets here? Because, no offense, I don't really care."

"No!" Hermione shouted, surprising them both. "No," she repeated, softer. "I can't tell them. I know I shouldn't trust you…well, it feels like that here,"' she gestured to her temple. "And I know you don't trust me, and you shouldn't, I mean, you have no reason to. But you're my Number, and we went to Hogwarts together, and while our history hasn't been the best…"

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "_That's_ diplomatic," he commented. _Understatement of the century_, he thought.

"The best," Hermione repeated, as if she too, were trying to believe in that fact. "I think unauthorized magic is being siphoned from Dark Pockets and is being stored in the Ministry somewhere."

Draco let the statement hand in the air for a moment. "Seriously?"

Hermione looked as exasperated as a sick person could. "Yes, seriously!" Draco crossed his arms and smirked, doubtful, causing Hermione to roll her eyes in frustration. "You have to believe me!"

His anger flared as stood up from his chair, too mad to stay seated. "Why?" Draco scoffed, tempted to get up and leave the flat right there, even though he knew he couldn't. "Why _should_ I? Why, when you were one of them who sent me away? Why, when you and I hate each other? When this world hates me? Tell me why I shouldn't get up right now and leave you, and this stupid, fucked up world to it's shitty fate?"

Hermione stared at him, his blonde hair in mild disarray, shirt crumpled, but stone grey eyes sharp and flashing. "I don't know," she said quietly, dropping her gaze from his person, her stomach feeling queasy.

Draco threw up his hands. "You don't know? You don't know," he began to pace by her bed really wishing he could leave. "You don't seem to know much of _anything _anymore and yet you expect me, the wizard from exile who can barely handle being in contact with magic again, to _help you_? You're insane. I knew it; you're insane, just like at Hogwarts. Unbelievable," he muttered to himself as he continued to pace, running his fingers through his hair.

Hermione sighed. If only she could put into words what she was feeling maybe then he would understand. But even she couldn't articulate what was going on inside her. She knew it was important to tell him, but she didn't know why. _I have to tell him about the magic, about who its going to…_she felt something stir in the back of her consciousness: a dark shadow advancing on her thoughts. Her ideas were slipping away from her again…when were they clearest? What had happened only a moment ago?

Hermione jumped up out of her bed and grabbed Draco around one of his wrists. "Oi!" he yelled. "Are you trying to contaminate me?"

His skin felt warm and safe and the shadows in her mind retreated. Hermione relaxed, knowing that she had made the right decision. _Proximity_, sher thought triumphantly to herself. _I knew it. _"You are _so_ getting a promotion when I'm healthy again," Hermione said, more to herself than Draco. Hermione realized that it was his left wrist that she had grabbed and her eyes moved curiously to the smooth skin of his inner-forearm. She could just see the scarred outline of his old Dark Mark tattoo peeking out from beneath his half-rolled sleeve. Hermione's heart panged with hard memories of the past and she slowly reached out her other hand to try and touch the white and twisting scars…Draco cleared his throat, and Hermione looked up.

The man was staring at her incredulously. "What?" she asked. Draco stared pointedly down at his wrist. "Oh, sorry," Hermione said, letting go of his wrist as if it were on fire. "I'm sorry," she said again, moving backward until she could sit back down on the bed. "I had a theory that needed testing."

Draco rubbed his wrist, briefly wondering if he would get sick. "A theory? Of all the idiotic things I've done in my life, agreeing to work for you was by far the biggest waste of time ever."

"Oh, stop it, don't be such a brat."

Draco spun away from her, palms covering his eyes, fingers clenching at his hair. He ground his teeth; it was all he could do not to punch a piece of furniture. _Calm down, calm down, she said promotion,_ Draco tried to soothe himself. He massaged his temples slowly, praying for strength. Finally, he let his arms drop to his sides and turned to look at the woman. "Why don't you have any decent alcohol in this place?" was all he could ask. Hermione shrugged. Draco rolled his eyes and sat down heavily on the chair next to her bed. "Well then, I will just have to content myself with some water from the tap. Cheers," he held up a water glass to her that he had brought from the kitchen earlier that night. Sipping at the water he dearly wished was something else, Draco studied his boss. "So, are you going to tell me why you're giving me a promotion?"

Hermione glared at him. "Because,"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What, are we five now?" She kept quiet. "Well are you going to tell me why you've suddenly decided to become my best friend? No? How about why you grabbed my wrist?"

"I have my reasons," Hermione stuck out her chin stubbornly.

"That's not good enough!" Draco yelled, slamming his glass down on the bedside table. "You can't drag me out from exile, plunk me in this fucked to hell world, make me _work_ for you, tell me a devastating secret and how I'm somehow indebted to helping you and not…explain…yourself." Draco let his loud words settle in the air until he lost patience again. "Explain yourself, damn it!"

"I feel better when you're around!" Hermione shouted, bringing Draco's rant to an abrupt halt. Hermione studied her hands in her lap. She couldn't explain it, she didn't want it to be true, but for some reason, there it remained. And if Hermione knew anything it was that facts don't lie. "I have no idea why, so don't ask me, but ever since you were hired as my Number Four, I've…noticed things, differences," Hermione's eyes flashed up at his, daring him to interrupt, to mock her, but Draco was too shocked to say anything. "I've felt these…shadows in my mind. Don't look at me like that, it's the best way I can explain it. It's in this sickness too, this isn't a simple stomach bug, it's something else, I know it is."

Hermione paused then, and Draco noticed her hands shaking. Hermione wiped her forehead with he back of her hand. They both knew her fever was climbing again. Draco handed her some water from a fresh glass, not the one that he had slammed down. "And the worst part," she continued. Draco cringed inwardly as her voice cracked. He hoped she wouldn't cry. He couldn't stand crying. "The worst part isn't that I can feel them now, it's that I'm only just realizing that they've been there for…I don't know how long." Hermione looked up at him sharply and Draco let out a breath. There was no trace of tears in that gaze.

"Trust what Ginny said, trust was Sherlock said, I'm not the same person, and I need your help." Hermione's hand was over her heart. _Oh Merlin, so this is going to get emotional,_ Draco thought. He could feel her look at him with intense eyes, but her voice had quavered with some emotion…_desperation_, Draco realized. He couldn't meet her gaze.

This was too much. Draco was confused as all hell and he didn't know what to think. One moment he was living his live in exile and the next he was working for a woman who hated his guts and who had ignored him and then told him to stay away from her. The same woman who was now asking him to help her…Draco didn't know…_touch me so she can think straight?_ Draco would have laughed if the situation weren't so horribly strange.

"Will you help me?"

Draco didn't know if he could answer. He turned and looked toward the door longingly. His life had been a painful one up until recently and he didn't want it to get worse again. Ever since he had…Draco froze, but he didn't turn to look at the woman in the bed, if he had, Draco didn't know how he would act. Ever since he had started working for her…he couldn't complete the thought, he knew too little. This was just an instant; a moment in the dark, the beginning of an idea, but something in his mind told him that it still meant something. He was about to answer when Hermione spoke again.

"Draco, will you stay with me?"

He turned then, his whole body tensed as he brought his eyes up to meet hers. The way she had said his name…how she had pronounced it…he _knew_ everything she meant behind that one word, his word: his name. Draco didn't hesitate in giving his answer.

"Yes," he replied resolutely.

Something crackled between them, unseen but powerful. It wasn't magic, it was something older, something ancient, like bottled lightning or forgotten air. They were connected by something greater than magic and the fact that Draco couldn't name it made him very uneasy. The pair stared at the other, eyes wide, holding themselves as if braced for an earthquake.

The power reverberated between them once more, like ripples in a pond, and just as suddenly as it had appeared, it vanished, dissipating into the air leaving Draco breathless and Hermione again flushed with her illness. Draco vaguely heard Hermione say "good", and watched her relax back into the covers, eyes glassy with her climbing fever. "Timmy…" she whispered. "What a beautiful music box you've given me…"

Draco froze.


	14. Chapter 13 Updated

**Chapter 13 Updated**

**Awww yeaaahh I love this chapter. Updates to the writing all around, but more toward the end when that unexpected guest arrives...**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 13 – Tuesday, November 8th, 10:45 p.m.<p>

...

Draco froze. _I am the _biggest _idiot in the world._ He stood up to make his way back to the desk in the living room, but something made him stop. Hesitating, he looked down at Hermione. He thought back to what Ginny had told him earlier. "If you let her get hurt…" the redhead's voice echoed in his head. Hermione did look fragile in that big bed, and her pale coloring tugged at Draco's guilt.

Something else tugged at his soul, causing him to hover over her, looking down at her sleeping form, soft curls waving around her head. He felt, at that moment, anchored, with a sense of purpose. He felt that he had a future; that free will was back in his grasp and for some reason, it was because of her. The feeling echoed that strange power that had passed between them earlier.

"I won't let you get hurt," he promised out loud. Then, feeling silly, he added, "But I have to figure my shit out first, I'm sorry." And with one last look at the woman, Draco walked out of the bedroom back to the desk.

The keys rested exactly where he had left them; close to that ornate little music box he had dismissed only an hour earlier. "Hello, darling," he told the smallest, golden key with a smile before fitting it into the lock. It slid in without any friction and Draco's smile grew. Cracking the lid, he opened the box slowly, as if it might explode.

A gentle tinkling of music filled the air when he lifted off the top. Draco took in the decorations inside the little wooden box. There was a mountain range painted in pastels in the inside of the top, while a golden otter revolved in a circle on its post above a mirror lake in the foreground. The craftsmanship was gorgeous, beyond anything Draco had seen in a long time, and he wondered again who this "Timmy'" person was. _Ex-lover, perhaps?_

But what was so special about this box?

He turned it upside down, roughly exploring its wooden contours, looking for a latch, a knob, anything. Growling, Draco set the box upright again and stared at it. The gentle music played on, as if taunting him. There had to be something to this contraption, but Draco was at a loss as to what it was. If only he had his wand, then maybe he could _force_ it open…He sat down heavily in the chair and lay his head down on the desktop like he had before, looking at the box from a side-angle. He watched the otter dance and dance in a circle until it came to him.

_Hermione's code name_…_the otter was her patronus too!_ Draco sat up, triumphant before the feeling left him as quickly as it came. _So what?_ He thought. Even knowing that piece of information wouldn't do him any good. He picked up the box again and brought it close to his face, making sure the light-orb above the desk caught every corner of its insides; he didn't want to miss anything.

A flash of gold caught Draco's eye. Thin, golden script ran a border around the pastel painting of the mountains. Turning the box, Draco squinted, trying to see what the words said. He read them slowly, out loud:

"Expecting no protector, the brightest burning always have those to guard them as fiercely as the Night guards its Stars. -47.8/201"

Draco sat back, thinking hard. What did _that_ mean? It sounded to him like the language of Seers, but glancing around the apartment, Draco couldn't imagine someone like Hermione being the subject of anything prophetic. She stuck to protocol like a burr and she had no extra curricular activities: she was brilliant, sure, but nothing special. Besides which, he had no idea how those numbers fit with the flowery prose.

Moonlight shone in through one of the windows and landed near Draco. With only one light-orb dancing above him in the main room of the apartment, the moon heightened the mystery of it all. Thinking hard, Draco realized he really had no idea who Hermione Granger was. If he wanted answers on why she had changed and why she needed his help, then he would first have to figure out what type of person she now was.

Heaving a sigh, Draco forced himself out of the chair and walked around the apartment, looking for something. "Clues," he chuckled sarcastically to himself as he stroked an invisible beard. He walked back to her desk and paused front of the bookshelf lining the wall behind her chair. Peering into the shelves, Draco thought back to what she had been like in school, trying to gloss over his memories of how he treated her at Hogwarts. He looked over framed still photographs of her parents and the moving ones of her wizarding friends.

There was a magical moving picture of the Golden Trio, gathered at a restaurant somewhere, all squished together for the shot. The Hermione in the photograph smiled between Harry and Ron, before she muttered something out of the corner of her mouth and the other two burst into laughter, just in time for the flash of the camera. Draco tried not to smile along with the three in the picture. He knew smiling was reactionary, a subconscious movement, but even so, if he could help it, he wasn't going to smile along with this photograph.

Moving on, Draco saw more pictures, both still and moving, of Hermione over the years portraying her as a funny, lively and friendly individual. Draco remembered her in school as smart, painfully straightedge, and stuck-up. His old feelings toward Harry, Ron and Hermione surfaced while looking at these pictures and he couldn't help but feel angry for no reason. He tried to calm down, but it was no good. Sure, he had been nasty growing up, but they had been mean to him as well. Even on the first night of school, Harry had snubbed him in front of the entire first year grade, and Draco had never understood why.

Harry Potter pissed Draco off simply because everyone else thought Harry was the greatest thing in the world. Without knowing about Harry's future deeds or all the details of the infamous night, eleven year old Draco had seen nothing special in the scrawny, black haired boy with glasses. Even at the present moment, Draco still didn't think much of Harry's original claim to fame. He had just sat there, the object of a spell that would go awry because of a mother's love. If anything, it was the mother that should be honored for her sacrifice, not a baby that had no idea of what he was doing.

Draco knew that Harry's many heroic acts had since proved him a hero, but when he had first seen him, Draco had wondered what all the fuss was about. And, according to his parents, Draco was the most wonderful boy in the wizarding world, so when Harry gained more popularity than him, Draco had become confused, hurt and so jealous that it made him feel better when he bullied the Potter boy.

Ron rubbed him the wrong way because his dad had complained loudly and with great distain all through Draco's childhood about Arthur Weasley. As soon as Draco spotted the red hair, it was all over. He would hate this child as his dad hated the father, all to make Lucius Malfoy proud. Draco knew that if he came across these two men now, he would still hate them; his feelings were imbedded too deeply in his psyche. Draco admitted to himself that he would probably be civil: the adult in him recognized that the hate wasn't personal. The feelings were just to old and rooted to his person to be overcome. Draco, Ron and Harry would never and could never be friends.

But Hermione…his thoughts trailed off as he walked toward the end of the bookcase. _Well, I was supposed to hate her, wasn't I?_ He told himself. _Everyone else did._ Draco was happy to hide behind this excuse, guilt curling in his chest. During his exile, Draco had learned some hard lessons on class and place, especially with his involvement in gang life. He had walked confidently into that world, expecting that he would be able to handle himself. He soon found out, painfully, how wrong he was.

Draco learned what it was like to be considered the lowest of the low for no reason other than the fact that he was new and different. The lessons he had learned on the streets tugged at his mind in the present, telling him that how he treated Hermione at Hogwarts was wrong. His cheeks warmed with shame, thinking that even now, he still thought of her as less than him, despite of what he had learned in exile. The seed of hate, sewn early, is often the most difficult to uproot, and the conflict Draco was feeling could be traced right back to the lessons his parents taught him.

There was another frame, a picture shoved off to the side but in a space all its own, that seemed special even for its plain wooden frame. Draco slid the frame towards the front of the shelf, toward the light. The tiny frame held a moving photograph of a blurry Ron and Hermione. It was taken from a close-up view and showed the couple lying prone on a bed or a couch, Draco wasn't sure. The movement of the picture had captured a moment of Hermione laughing, eyes closed, as Ron gently kissed the bottom of her jaw, smiling as well. Draco slid the frame back to its original position. It was so private a moment, Draco felt dirty and intrusive, as if he had just walked in on the actual scene.

So they had broken up, Ron and Hermione. Draco wondered how it happened. Like Ginny and Harry's relationship, everyone who had known Ron and Hermione had taken them getting married for granted. His curiosity burned to know what happened.

Thinking over the pictures, what she was like in school and her situation now, Draco still had no better an idea of who Hermione Granger was when he had started out, although he did have more to build on going forward.

Draco stroked his chin again, but this time subconsciously, not in jest. Absorbing all this information in the back of his mind, his conscious thoughts lingered on his desire to shave at the moment. Distracted by the physical problem, Draco's mind relished in trying to solve the mundane, trifling task of shaving for it allowed the rest of his brain to work on the information and process it fully.

Thinking that Hermione might have a disposable razor in her bathroom, Draco entered her room quietly, sneaking past her sleeping figure and closing the bathroom door behind him. He opened the medicine cabinet and rooted around in it as stealthily as he could. There was a shelf so close to the ceiling that he had to tilt his head back a little to see. Grumbling about how Hermione couldn't possibly use the high shelf, Draco cursed under his breath when his hand clumsily knocked over a bunch of toiletries. Trying to catch them all before they hit the ground, Draco grimaced when he missed a heavy metal bottle of hair spray. It clattered to the floor, the loud sound echoing off the tiled walls. Arms full of the assorted items he had caught in time, Draco squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for…he didn't know what, but nothing came.

"Why the fuck does she even _have_ that shelf?" He muttered darkly, gently placing the items back where they belonged. "What does she expect, shoving all that shit up there without any sort of protection…" Draco stopped, his mind racing. Before the idea left him, Draco dumped his armload in Hermione's sink and yanked open her bathroom door, disregarding noise entirely. He glanced at her sleeping form as he passed and gave her a smirk. "Whoever Timmy was to you, he was smart." Without another look, Draco rushed back to her desk and the music box.

It looked innocent, sitting there on a big desk, portraying for the entire world that it was simply a music box, but Draco knew better. Standing behind the desk, Draco felt a grin start to grow with his anticipation, but he stopped. He looked at his watch: 11:15 p.m., way past Approved Magic Hours. He thought quickly. He wasn't casting a spell; he was just saying the words, like saying a password. And if Alderman Granger owned a music box wrapped in magic, she probably had it registered with the Ministry as a licensed object, therefore keeping it outside of the jurisdiction of the Timed Magical Suppressant Law.

Draco would take the chance. He gripped the desktop with both hands and leaned forward. He could feel perspiration at his brow; he hadn't used a magic spell in over eight years, let alone speak the words. Draco hesitated, dragging the spell from his memory and dusting it off: he wanted to say it right. The words came to his lips slowly, as if greeting an old friend.

"Expecto patronum," Draco whispered so quietly, he almost couldn't hear it. The gentle, tinkling music stopped mid-note; the otter stopped revolving on its golden pedestal and shuddered. Draco tensed, expecting the worst, but all the little animal did was disappear down into the mirror lake with barely a ripple. In the otter's place rose a small, golden knob, almost an inch wide. Once it reached it's apex, Draco heard lots of small mechanical clicking sounds of something unlocking. When the noises stopped, he eagerly gripped the little orb and lifted the false bottom. Looking down at the object that lay underneath, Draco hadn't been expecting…_that_.

It was a key. _Another bloody key_, Draco thought as he studied the piece of hardware. It wasn't like any of the keys he had just been working with, he couldn't quite place it, but he knew something was very different. Then, Draco felt it. Raw magical power radiated from the key in waves, pulling him closer…_closer._

"Holy shit!" Draco exclaimed, stumbling backwards from the desk, tearing himself away from the key's power. The healers at St. Mungo's had assured him that his body was slowly internalizing the magic, but with the memory of the incident with the scanner in that small room not yet three weeks ago still fresh in his mind, Draco felt a sort of panic.

This key was more magical than anything Draco had encountered so far in his re-entry into this society, short of a wand, which were few and far between. Eight years ago this magical object might have had the same power in it as a wand, but it would have felt like a simple key to him, not some dangerous thing. Draco carefully edged his way back over to the desk and peeked back inside the box. _This must be a Master Key_, Draco thought.

He had learned about them in a lecture from a teacher in one of his classes, the name of which escaped him now. "There are still Master Keys out there," the teacher had stated in a bored voice, one reserved for lectures, "As you may remember from your schooling, these Keys were originally invented in the Middle Eastern wizarding worlds during the 11th century before going out of fashion as the wand became popular.

"They open any door, anywhere, and they even open onto places that don't have doors. Very useful for a country experiencing a Shortage such as ours, but they are one of the items that are to be used as a last resort. As soon as the Shortage was discovered, our country decided that Master Keys should play a large role in our government.

"What this means is that, while years ago a Master Key would indeed be a powerful object, it is more powerful now owing to the large amount of the countries magic that was diverted into the Keys. Only an elite few know how many were made, who has them, and where they are. It's not likely that any of us will ever see them in our lifetime, so we won't bother going deeper into the subject."

And here he was now, looking down at a powerful, utterly mundane looking, Master Key. Draco sucked in a breath; he was impressed that Hermione possessed such an item. He wondered why she had one and what clearance level she had been assigned to get one. He glanced in the direction of her bedroom and raised his eyebrows, impressed.

Draco considered her plea for him to help with a growing gravity. It made sense now that it was hidden so well, and that the steps to find it were puzzling, but Draco was unnerved that he had cracked the code at all. Master Keys were supposed to be completely unavailable to the public eye, kept in vaults so secret and removed that sometimes even their owners forgot where they were. _So how the hell did I find it?_

The magic from the key distracted Draco from his thoughts and he glanced back down at the object. It was beautiful: cast in a metal that Draco couldn't name, the light from the light-orb above the desk dancing off its polished surface. Draco's hand was reaching for the key before he even knew what he was doing. Pausing the moment just before his fingers brushed it, Draco blinked slowly, wondering if taking it was a good idea. His fingers closed around it before he completed his thoughts. _It's okay,_ he told himself. _I need this._

There was a knock at the door. Draco slammed the music box shut and clutched the key in his hand, not wanting to let the feel of magic go just yet. Draco quickly crossed to the door. Positioning himself at the ready, he pulled his transi-gun out if its holster and held it outstretched. The key was still in his left hand, but he ignored it. Taking a deep breath, Draco opened the door.

"Get that thing out of my face before you do something stupid," Blaise said from the doorway. Draco deflated, stepping aside to let the man in.

"What are you doing here?"

Blaise sighed and swept into the flat. "What a way to greet a friend, Draco."

The ruffled blonde checked his watch. "Maybe a perfect way to greet one at quarter to twelve, though." Blaise winked at Draco and smiled as if indulging the whims of a child. "Where are your Numbers?" Draco asked as soon as he realized something was missing.

Blaise made a motion with his hands as if shooing away a fly. "Oh, they're around, don't worry." The black man circled around the room casually, but Draco was struck by the feeling of a predator stalking prey.

Draco sighed, not in the mood to play a game of cat and mouse this late at night. He re-holstered his transi-gun, conscious of the key the entire time, and careful to keep it concealed. "Why are you here, Blaise?" He slowly moved his fist holding the key into his pants pocket.

The man didn't turn from his inspection of Hermione's coffee table, sliding a finger along the surface before rubbing it against his thumb, checking for dust. "No reason other than to check on her wellbeing, I'm a concerned friend as well as an employer, after all," he smiled at Draco, affect all friendliness. "She _is_ important to this government, Draco."

The blonde didn't know what to say. He kept his back away from Blaise at all times, something subconscious within him telling him to always keep an enemy in full sight. _Was Blaise an enemy?_ Draco hoped Blaise couldn't tell he was holding something in his pocket. The Chancellor ignored Draco's unusual stance and turned to sweep his gaze about the room again. His dark eyes landed on Hermione's desk.

Turning to Draco, Blaise asked, "It looks a little messy in here, were you looking for something?"

Draco froze inside, but his police training and his years of being a liar took over. "Yeah, I was looking for some medicine to make her feel better. I know her father is a doctor so I was hoping that she would have some spare prescriptions lying around. You know how muggle doctors are always so free with drugs, especially if it comes to family."

Blaise and Draco stared at each other, each man refusing to back down from the unspoken challenge. Draco was careful to keep any emotion out of his eyes, but inside he found himself screaming in panic. Blaise finally nodded and broke the stare, accepting the lie. "Her father is a dentist, not a medical surgeon."

Draco's shoulders dropped in relief. "I guess that's why I didn't find anything." A clock ticked in the distance. Draco wanted the other man out of Hermione's apartment. Blaise's presence in the flat felt wrong and it made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand up. A thought suddenly struck Draco: _She's not safe with him here._ "I'll tell her you stopped by…"

Blaise turned and walked around the apartment, pausing a moment at the mouth of the hallway that lead back to Hermione's room. Draco made a movement to block him, but Blaise seemed to change his mind and turned swiftly to walk back to the front room, stopping at the desk.

The black man was silent for a moment, as if looking for something. Suddenly, he chuckled. "I have to admit," Blaise drawled, hands skimming over the surface of Hermione's desk as he walked around it. He stopped at the chair, as if he were going to sit. "She _is _a very attractive witch, beautiful even. Quite different from the little girl she was at school, don't you agree?" Blaise smiled up at Draco, all teeth and hidden motive. Draco hesitated, unsure of his old friend's angle.

"She is different," he said.

Blaise shook his head. "But pretty too, no?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. _What was Blaise playing at here?_ "Pretty…yeah, I guess," he said after a moment.

Blaise's grin widened and Draco felt sickened by the action; the man looked like a shark. "She is, she is, indeed, I've always said so," his eyes lingered on the music box, the lid shut but the entire contraption set at a different angle to the rest of the belongings. "As you said, it's late, I should go," Blaise straightened his coat jacket but hovered at the desk a moment longer. "You can tell me anything, Draco, you know that, right? We were like brothers once, you and I."

Draco kept silent. He didn't feel like a brother to Blaise anymore. Something was different about his person; something Draco didn't want anything to do with. _Was this what she was talking about?_ Draco wondered, cautiously studying Blaise. _Does he have something to do with what's going on at the Ministry?_

In the silence, Blaise raised his eyes and met Draco's. After a moment, Blaise extended a finger and slowly pushed the music box back into its place on the desk. Draco held his breath, arranging his features in a blank expression. "Of course," Draco said. "I can tell you anything. Slytherin mates, am I right?" The blonde mentally crossed his fingers.

Blaise gave a small smile, lips remaining closed. He walked over to Draco and drew close to the taller man, his face pushed up into his. "I would tread carefully, my _friend_. For it is your fate I hold in the palm of my hand, and you should know that no one else has the power I do."

Draco set his jaw. "Noted," he managed to say through clenched teeth. Blaise pulled himself away from Draco after a moment, breaking a bit of the tension.

As Blaise opened the door, Draco relaxed his grip on the Master Key still hidden in his pocket. Immediately, the Chancellor jerked to a halt and turned his face halfway back toward Draco, showing the blonde his profile. Blaise took a deep breath through his nose, as if to draw air to speak. All of Draco's muscles seized up again, including the hand holding the magical object. "Evening," finally came the man's curt farewell.

The door closed with a snap, and Draco counted to ten before rushing to lock it. Relaxing his back on the closed door, Draco brought the key out in front of him and stared down at the thing. He let out a breath as he sagged even more against the door, trying to release the tension he felt. While his body relaxed, his mind raced.

Draco had no idea why Blaise had shown up to Hermione's apartment close to midnight or why he had acted in such a way. Remembering what had just happened, Draco tried not to shudder. It was as if Blaise had been…sniffing for something. _Almost like he could _sense _the Master Key._

Draco thought the key resting in his large, open palm looked innocent enough, but he could feel the weight of its raw power even in the muscles of his arm. Thinking of Blaise pushing the music box back into place, Draco frowned. _He knows something, he knows._

Suddenly, Draco felt something tug at his chest, as if what he was feeling was humming down from his heart drawn into the Key, connecting them. Draco closed his fist and looked up, his gaze directed down the dark hallway toward Hermione's bedroom. "I will help you," he said into the darkness. "I will."


	15. Chapter 14 Updated

**Chapter 14 Updated**

**Everything changed in this chapter: there is now a fight between Draco and Hermione, because neither will take anything lying down until...well...later. Haha...new chapter tonight!**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 14 – Wednesday, November 9th, 9:15 a.m.<p>

...

Hermione woke up sweaty. Groaning, she sat up in her bed, shielding her eyes from the sunlight streaming past her curtains. _I feel disgusting_, she thought, immediately eyeing the shower through her bathroom door. In a few short moments, the brunette was happily enjoying the deep heat of the water pounding against her back, the steam swirling around her skin, opening her pores. She inhaled deeply and sighed.

The illness seemed to have left her body in a night, perhaps just a 24-hour bug, and she was glad of it. _Good riddance_, she thought and wiggled her toes happily in the water circling the drain around her feet.

Luxuriating in the shower far longer than she normally would have, Hermione finally turned off the water when she felt totally clean and refreshed. Wiping away the fog on her mirror with a hand, the woman peered at her reflection. _Not bad,_ she thought. _I mean, considering. Just some sleep circles under the eyes._ She wrinkled her nose playfully at her face in the mirror and wrapped a towel around her person.

Taking her time getting dressed, she stood in front of her closet, hand on hip, weighing the merits of certain clothing choices. She wouldn't be going into work today, and she could wear anything she wanted. While she felt much better, Hermione knew when her body was trying to tell her something it was best to listen. A day off was just what she needed and the thought thrilled her. Playing hooky wasn't something Alderman Granger was usually known to do, but today was different, even if she didn't know why.

Finally settling on an oversized muggle t-shirt of a band she didn't really know and a pair of skinny jeans given to her by Ginny last Christmas, Hermione dressed quickly, the heat from the shower leaving her body in the cool morning air. Turning to leave her room, she spotted a Number regulation jacket flung over the chair near her bed and froze. Her eyes widened as her memories came rushing back to her of the previous night.

Pulling her wet hair into a bun, Hermione walked quietly out of her room and down the hallway. She moved cautiously, as if someone were to jump out and attack her at any time. "Hello?" she asked softly when she reached the end of the hallway. When she saw him, she bit her lip, resisting an urge to curse. She had been hoping that he had gone and just forgotten his jacket.

Draco Malfoy was asleep on her couch, for which he was much too big. One of his legs was bent; the foot curled underneath his other leg that was sticking out over one of the sofa arms. His left arm was thrown across his eyes, blocking the light with the other arm hanging off the couch, knuckles resting on the ground. Her throw blanket that she kept for decoration lay across his body, the small dimensions only covering from his chest to mid-thigh. His mouth was slightly open and his breathing was heavy, clearly in deep sleep.

"Hi," Hermione said loudly.

Draco sat bolt upright, trying to stand to attention. In his hurry to get his feet on the ground, one if his knees caught on the arm of the sofa, the other tangled in the tiny blanket, and he tripped himself. Only his long arms saved him, the one already touching the ground pushing his falling body up before he could fall completely. Draco lurched to his feet, hopping to gain his balance, arms trying to rid the twisted blanket from his body and eyes blinking furiously against his retracting pupils. The resulting effect of his actions was so comical; Hermione couldn't help but laugh; releasing the tension she felt with his presence.

"Shut up," Draco growled, finally standing balanced. He tugged at his wrinkled shirt, trying in vain to smooth it. Hermione waved away his demand and calmed herself to the occasional giggle.

"Well _that_ isn't something you see every morning." She continued to grin at him until she realized that he wasn't smiling back. Clearing her throat, she moved to the kitchen. "And if you tell me to shut up again, I'll have you fired."

Draco didn't say anything, but when Hermione opened the fridge door, blocking her from view, he smirked. _No you won't,_ Draco thought. _I'll have to do much worse than that, and not after last night._

Hiding behind the open door, Hermione stalled, staring at the milk and leftover containers hoping that maybe they would give her and idea of what to say. Finally she grabbed the orange juice container and closed the fridge. "Want some juice?" she asked the empty air. Draco was no longer in the room.

Frowning, she was about to investigate when he reappeared, coming from down the hall, carrying his jacket. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he said in a robotic tone, shrugging on his coat. "I'll radio Carl and let him know to send Bev and Wes with a car." He hurriedly glanced around for his socks and shoes.

Hermione set the juice down on the counter. "No, wait, don't," she started. She watched Draco stop and look at her, recently found sock in one hand. Their eyes met in a deep gaze for the first time that morning, both trading a knowing look with the other. They both remembered what had transpired the night before and the promises that had been made. Draco's stone grey eyes were dark in the morning light, and something in them told Hermione that he knew something she didn't. She broke the spell first, looking fixedly down at the orange juice on the counter.

"Don't call Carl, I-I don't want to go to work today," her voice was small, and she was annoyed at how pathetic it sounded. "Please." She heard a sigh and a rustle of fabric and leather as Draco sat down on her couch.

"Fine," she heard him say. "But you at least need to contact him and tell him that you're not coming in." Hermione nodded and grabbed a glass from her cabinet. Motioning to the man on her couch she offered juice again. "Whatever," Draco relented. The Master Key felt heavy and warm in his pocket, he wished she would call Carl to have Bev or Wes come take over, he had serious work to do studying the Key.

Hermione poured glasses of juice for the both of them and brought it over to Draco. "So," she said, sitting lightly on the couch next to him, at the farthest end. "Thanks for last night."

Draco accepted the glass and drank from it, continuing to look at Hermione. He noticed she was wearing a "Strokes" t-shirt and was mildly impressed. Draco let out a sigh; he knew what she was doing. "Don't you need to call Carl? I'm not going to do it, he'll just yell at me."

"Right, right, of course," Hermione abruptly stood up and went to her room to call her Number One on her private line. While she was gone, Draco let his posture relax and he slouched down on the sofa. He groaned, rubbing his eyes. He hoped that Bev could take over, he didn't know how much longer he could stay here, especially with Hermione thinking she had to be best friends with him now that they were "on the same team", so to speak.

_Just because two people have the same goal, doesn't mean they have to pretend to be anything they're not_. He felt a little embarrassed at his passionate pledge to help her from the night before. Draco wanted to ask her about what she said last night, about feeling better when he was around, but in the light of day, it all seemed a bit silly and he didn't quite believe it anymore.

Draco had also decided not to tell Hermione about Blaise's visit last night. _Better she be left in the dark about that one_, he thought. _It would only worry her if she knew._ Hermione walked out of her room then and Draco watched her as she moved back toward the kitchen. _Besides, she looks kind of happy I guess._ Her gaze jumped to his and Draco quickly lowered his eyes._ And if she knew Blaise had been here, it would only make her upset._ He tried to stifle a smile as the woman muttered under her breath trying to put bread in the toaster.

"Don't laugh at me," Hermione said, clearly having seen Draco's poor attempt to cover a smile. "This toaster is crap." Draco moved from the living room to help her_,_ smirking as he gently pressed the toast button down. Hermione rolled her eyes. "It is _usually _crap, alright?"

"Whatever," Draco said, moving away from her and leaning against the opposite counter. He crossed his arms. "So if you're going to lounge about all day, what am I supposed to do?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I mean, what's the usual protocol for a 'day off'?"

Hermione paused, frowning. "I actually don't know, I've never taken a day off before. I mean, not unscheduled, that is." She chanced a glance up at him, to see if he thought her pathetic but Draco was looking away, eying the clock mounted to the wall. The strong line of his jaw leading down to his neck moved when he spoke and it took Hermione a moment to listen to what he was saying. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Draco turned back to her, annoyed. "I said, do you think that I should switch shifts? With one of the other Numbers, I mean."

"Yes, when I talked to Carl…he's sending Bev over." The toast dinged, and Hermione turned to fix her breakfast. Behind her, she heard Draco move out of the kitchen again and settle back down on the couch. "Are you sure I can't get you anything else?" She peeked around the corner; he was folding her throw blanket.

"Some quiet?" Draco muttered, placing the blanket next to him on the leather sofa.

"What?" Hermione called.

He cleared his throat. "Um, don't you think that there might me a riot without you at work today?" Draco pulled a face at his poor attempt to cover up what he said.

Hermione plunked herself down in a chair across from his spot on the couch, plate of toast in hand. "No, they'll be fine. I think sometimes I need them more than they need me. I did do a very good job setting up how I wanted my office run. They're like a well-oiled machine even if I am there." Hermione crunched on her toast and stole a glance at Draco; he hadn't been listening.

The odd pair sat in silence for a while, Hermione eating and Draco counting the seconds until Bev got there to relieve him. All he wanted was a beer and a long nap. He could feel the Master Key in his pocket. _If I can figure out how to use this, I'll be able to go wherever I want, _he thought.

Magical theory about Master Keys stated that whomever possesses a Key has the ability to open a doorway from anywhere and have it open onto any place he or she wished. But Draco didn't know how to do that yet. No one did. Master Keys were things of the past, legendary objects lost mostly to stories with no modern witch or wizard ever being trained on how to use them.

It had been a complete surprise to the public when the Ministry had announced that not only had made several Master Keys, but that they had also trained a select few on how to use them. Of course, there had also been a public outcry when they had learned the Ministry was siphoning a lot of magic to make the Keys, but after a long PR campaign headed by Chancellor Zabini, most of the wizarding community had been put to ease.

Draco wasn't too concerned with the fact he couldn't use the Key to open doors wherever he wanted right away. He knew he would eventually learn the skill. What he did know was that he could use the Key like a wand, but better. The Master Keys were manufactured during the Shortage and were sanctioned by the Ministry for last-resort, emergency use. And as such, they could be used outside of Approved Magic Hours and without any detection.

As long as Draco could get into the library, he could use the Key to conduct as much research as he wanted in the main room, which was extensive in it's own right. He knew that once he learned to open magical doors, he could get into the restricted areas of the library, but he could content himself with working in the main section.

_As long as I can get in…Fuck! _Draco sat up. Even having a Master Key wouldn't really matter if he couldn't get an excuse to be in the library. _That damn promotion she mentioned last night_, he chewed his lip. _This was going to be awkward_.

"Um, Granger, where you, er, serious about that promotion last night, or…?" He let his words trail off.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Of course, I think that we'll have to be spending more time together to, you know, keep up appearances that we're not trying to spy on our own government." She really hoped that he wouldn't figure out that the closer he physically was to her, the clearer she could think. Hermione didn't think she could live that one down.

Draco relaxed. "Just so we're clear, I'm doing this to fix my own life and, if I can, this shit-hole you call a Ministry." Hermione pursed her lips slightly at the language but continued to listen. "I'm not helping you, we're not 'special friends' or whatever, you don't have to pretend to be nice to me and, believe me, I won't pretend to be nice to you. Deal?"

"Figures I couldn't expect you to act civil around something important," Hermione didn't want to get snippy with him, but she couldn't help it, he was just so…_frustrating._

"I never said I wouldn't be civil. That's your problem, not mine."

Hermione scoffed. "Excuse me for not believing that you wouldn't be acting like a total ass. Let's review your history, shall we?"

Draco looked pained. "Let's not."

Hermione gave him a look. "Oh no, please, we should do this." She stuck out her hand, counting on her fingers. "Okay, where should we start? Oh right, at the beginning. You were the first person to call me a derogatory name; you bullied those that were smaller than you; you tattled, lied, cheated, stole, acted completely in your own best interests; made more than several people's lives a living hell, I could go on here, but stop me if any of this is sounding familiar, and oh yes, you helped Death Eat-" Hermione was interrupted by Draco slamming his hands down onto her coffee table.

"Stop it!" The table rattled with the force of his blow. Draco's face was flushed with anger and he was glaring at Hermione who crossed her arms.

"Why should I stop? All of this is true. Are you so ashamed to look in the mirror that-" she was interrupted once more.

"Fuck you," Draco added.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me, what was that?"

Draco's glare deepened. "You heard me. Fuck you."

"How dare you?" Hermione said, frowning back and meeting his glare. His control snapped. Draco stood up from the couch and pointed accusingly at Hermione.

"How dare I? No, not me '_Alderman_ _Granger'_, how dare _you_," Draco spat out her Ministry title as if it were poison. "You know what I had to do to atone for those sins. Eight years, eight _fucking_ years, have I not paid back my debt to this society? I wasn't even finished! I still had two more years to go and I certainly never asked for the Ministry to come get me! Sure, I wanted to come back early and yes, I dreamed of it, but I was following the rules, damn it; I was doing what you asked. So yeah, fuck you."

Hermione stood up, furious. She was shorter than Draco, but her body seemed to hum with strength and she seemed much taller. "I will not feel bad for you _Draco Malfoy_, not for one second. I didn't do any of this to you, you made your own decisions and lived your own life, so don't blame _any_ of this on me. Any of it! I know you took your punishment, I know about all of that, but you're back here now, living in this world again, your world, so _do_ I expect you to behave like a better person, yes?"

Draco tried to speak, but Hermione kept going. "I'm not finished! I'm not expecting you to act grateful toward us, I know the implications of exile, and I don't expect you to ever forgive us. But I do expect you to act like an adult. Grow up, Malfoy, this isn't Hogwarts and no one's scared of you anymore!"

"Well, you can't just go and pretend to be my mate…" Draco spluttered.

"I'm not pretending!" Hermione shrieked, frustrated beyond reason. "I'm acting like myself, like a human being. Being nice and polite are things that people _do_ when they are working together. I'm _sorry_ I offended your horrible manners by trying to start over. That's all I was trying to do! I was _willing _to forgive you for your past because of the debt you have already paid, but I guess you don't want to move on from the past. That's fine, it really is, but then don't get pissed off when I point out all the mistakes that you have made that you're so desperate to cling on to." She stopped then, panting slightly, and silence surrounded them.

Draco had an odd look on his face as he watched Hermione's balled fists relax after her final outburst. He had no idea what to say. He had never expected anyone who knew him from his earlier years to ever try and forgive him, or even _want_ to. And now here was this person standing right in front of him saying that she was willing to overlook all his mistakes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione spoke first again, this time in softer tones.

"Eight years is a long time, a _long_ time. Look around you, everything's changed, every_one's_ changed. We may not ever be friends or even friendly acquaintances, but we can be professional. I have something you need and you have something I need and that's it."

Draco finally spoke. "And that something you need from me…that something that you said last night…it's true?"

"I said a lot of things last night," Hermione sighed, sitting back down in the chair and shaking out her wet hair out from it's elastic. "Can you be more specific?"

Draco mimicked her action and took a seat back on the couch. "When you said that you…felt better when I am around. Is that true?" He couldn't meet her gaze.

Hermione felt her stomach drop. She hadn't wanted him to remember that detail, even though it was true. Hermione thought fast. "Sure, I feel better when anyone from Hogwarts is around, it reminds me of a more innocent time and it relaxes me, let's me think clearly. Doesn't it you?" Hermione ruffled her fingers through her damp hair, drying it out a bit and trying to look casual. She had an inkling that Draco wouldn't take too well to the idea that she actually only felt clearer when he was around; only him and no one else.

_What he doesn't know fully won't hurt him,_ Hermione told herself. _When the time is right I'll either tell him, or he'll figure it out._ The brunette witch was smart enough to know how to handle people, and to decipher what they needed. She was no Sherlock Holmes, but she was a close second. _I don't even know the complete ramifications of this…this _relationship_…but he won't stay near me if he thinks it's important to me, the cheeky bastard._

Draco gave a shrug, bringing Hermione's attention back to the present. "I guess," he answered her question. Draco had a feeling that she wasn't telling him everything. Her answer of "Hogwarts" explaining her behavior from last night didn't quite fit. _That doesn't explain why she had to touch my wrist,_ Draco mused before letting it go. Honestly, he didn't really care. He had gotten the promotion he needed and he was one step closer to discovering all the facts around his dirty trial. If he would also have to spend some time researching why the Ministry was so messed up, then so be it. That mystery was interesting in its own right, and one that Draco was mildly invested in as he reasoned that it might even be linked to his exile.

Hermione stood up and brought her plate, now empty of toast back to the kitchen. "So now what?" she asked, putting the dish in the sink. Draco smirked at her as she turned and walked back to the living room. He stood up, towering over her.

"So, I'm still waiting to see if we still have a deal? Me, promotion, you…fucking relaxation therapy or something?" Draco watched in satisfaction as Hermione rolled her eyes. He would be professional, but he knew he could still get away with some things. Nothing had changed from his realization the other day in the elevator.

"Don't swear around me, Malfoy, it isn't becoming."

Draco wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen a ghost of a smile tug at Hermione's lips. _Oh so she developed a sense of humor, did she? Well, it's about time,_ he thought. "So," Draco said, sticking out his hand. "Professionals, the both of us; civil and for a mutual benefit."

This time there was no mistaking it, a small smile turned up the corners of Hermione's mouth. "Deal," she said, taking his hand. Touching his skin, Hermione felt immediate relief. She hadn't even noticed the darkness lurking within her mind that morning; the shadows had retreated with him being in her flat. But it seemed as if nothing could compare to the effects of direct contact.

When they shook on it, and Draco felt the same crackle of ancient power pass over his skin as it did the night before, although it wasn't as noticeable, it was more like an echo.

The pair stayed like that, hand in hand, human to human, connected by a moment, an idea, a touch. Their eyes were locked together deeply and Draco felt the buzz of the strange electricity in his stomach. Hermione thought that she must be blushing, but she didn't care. Her heart beat faster as she felt her mind clear. Her lips parted with the excitement she felt and Draco felt a surge in the energy increase. For some reason, the power told him that being near Hermione was correct; that he was doing something right.

The door knocked. "Hello, ma'am? Are you feeling better?" Bev's Welsh accent came through the door, the sound causing the pair to break hurriedly apart. Hermione let go of Draco's hand and moved quickly to answer the door. As the women talked, Draco gathered up his jacket and shrugged it on. Bev was always too perky in the mornings for his taste. _Mostly all the time_, Draco conceded. He stopped when he realized that the last question had been directed at him.

"What?"

"Do you have classes to take today, Draco?" Bev repeated politely.

Draco stuck his hand in his pocket, fingers brushing against the Master Key. "I do, later in the afternoon," he said, keeping his face passive. "I think I'll take a nap first, though." Bev smiled.

"Of course," she said. "See you tomorrow."

Draco nodded in reply, closing the door behind him. But not without first catching the gaze of Hermione a last time. Draco felt his stomach clench as her deep, brown eyes spoke volumes of trust across the distance. The door snapped shut. Draco hoped he could live up to that trust, for her sake. _For my sake,_ Draco corrected himself firmly as he pressed the elevator call button, hard.


	16. Chapter 15 New

**Yes, finally a new chapter! I apologize for the wait. More to come tonight.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 15 – Friday, November 11th- Monday, November 14th<p>

...

Draco had thought something was going to change immediately, that Hermione would ask him to begin work on their project right away. However, the Friday a couple of days after Draco had stayed the night at Hermione's apartment, she called him into her office to tell him otherwise.

"Alderman Granger wants to see you," Carl told Draco gruffly. Draco looked up from his desk where he was working on some homework for his Tactics and Analysis class.

"Right, thanks," Draco said, absentmindedly standing up still writing on a piece of parchment, finishing a thought.

"Now!" Carl snapped. Draco crossed a t and dropped his quill glaring up at his superior. Carl just glared back. _Well, he's not going to be happy when he hears that I'm getting promoted._

Draco knocked on Hermione's door and opened it when he heard her say; "come in", still feeling Carl's gaze on his back.

She was doing paperwork, her curly-haired head bent over her desk in concentration, a frown creasing her brow, lightly biting her bottom lip. Draco coughed, trying to get her attention as much as he was trying to clear a sudden thump in his chest. Hermione looked up. "Oh yes, come in." She finished signing her name and waved a hand before her to indicate that he should sit. Draco sighed when he took seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. "Malfoy," Hermione began as she sat back in her chair. "I have some bad news."

"You're not promoting me," Draco interrupted, his face stoic. _I should have expected this._

Hermione gave him a funny look. "No, I was just going to tell you that the paperwork is going to take longer than I thought. I'm just going over the documents now and it looks like it's going to take between 2-4 weeks. I remember how long it took when Timmy was promoted to my Number One."

"Timmy?" Draco ejected, his hand flying up to his neck. That was the name she had muttered in her sleep, the one that had led him to the music box and the Master Key. Beneath the fabric of his shirt was the Key, strung up on a golden chain that Draco now wore constantly around his neck.

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Timothy Terrence was my previous Number One."

Draco fiddled with the Key, grateful for it's small size. As soon as he had the idea to wear it as a necklace, the Key had shrunken before his eyes to a charm-sized object. Draco knew that if anyone saw it, they would think it was just a pretty necklace. The magical power seemed to have shrunk with the size as well, and when Draco had put the necklace on, the Key felt like a normal object. "What happened to him? Did he grow tired of being a Number?"

Hermione was silent then, a far-off look in her eye. She traced a scar on her left forearm. "He died, Malfoy, protecting me." Draco stiffened but remained quiet until Hermione spoke again. The witch shook herself out of her reverie. "I apologize that your upgrade is taking so long, but I wanted to keep you informed."

"I thought you wanted this to happen _now_?" Draco dropped his hand from the Key, annoyed that he had to wait a month to explore the library.

Hermione gave him a fleeting look and spoke loudly, as if she were trying to distract him from talking about their work. "I'm _sorry_, but this isn't my fault. I was just letting you know that it may take some time. _I _don't want this to be held up either. I have a letter into Chancellor Zabini and I am waiting to hear back from him. I'm sure he will ratify your advancement as quickly as he is able."

"Don't be so sure," Draco muttered, and traveling to the necklace again.

Hermione peered at Draco. "What?"

Draco paused, debating with himself. Finally, he ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I just don't trust him, that's all. He's not the same person he was back at Hogwarts, as far as I can tell."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "None of us are, but Malfoy, Chancellor Zabini is a very important part of the Ministry, you need to remember that. I trust him, and the Ministry, completely." Draco tried to keep his face composed. _If you only knew how he acted in your apartment…_Draco was brought out of his thoughts by Hermione sliding a sheet of paper across the desk to him as she kept talking. "And if I hear you being disrespectful of the Chancellor one more time, I will have to report you."

Draco frowned as he accepted the sheet of parchment. It was in Hermione's handwriting, clearly something she had just scrawled a moment ago. It read: _I don't know how safe it is to discuss certain members of the Ministry within my office anymore. Shut up about Blaise. Burn this._ Draco looked up at Hermione, eyes wide with shock. He couldn't believe it...this couldn't be real. Hermione just stared back at him with a level gaze. Draco swallowed hard, pocketing the paper to dispose of later.

"Of course, ma'am, I apologize. You are right. Please let me know as soon as you do about my status upgrade."

Hermione nodded at Draco's formal words, relieved that he could keep up with her subterfuge. "You may go," she dismissed him.

Draco walked stiffly out of her office, passing Carl and ignoring his question of; "Where do you think you're going?" He kept walking, making his way down to the garage where he knew there was always a fire in the back of the hanger for soldering metal. Draco tossed the parchment into the flames and watched as the words Hermione had written curled up into smoke. Once he was sure there were no traces of the paper left, Draco turned around to face the garage, hoping he would spot Wes over in his corner maybe eating lunch or working on Lunette. But the other wizard was nowhere in sight. Draco sighed and started back up the stairs to Hermione's office.

...

That next Monday, he was summoned into Hermione's office again. "Good morning, Malfoy," Hermione said when she saw the blonde enter. She wondered if he ever got enough sleep or if the shadows under his eyes were a permanent feature. The wizard only grunted in reply, clearly not a morning person. Hermione overlooked his candor. "Chancellor Zabini was kind enough to push your promotional paperwork through quickly. As of this morning, you are officially my Number Three." She smiled professionally at him.

Draco blinked. "What? I mean; that was fast."

Hermione shuffled some papers into a briefcase, preparing to leave for a meeting with the Spanish Ministry across town. "Indeed, Chancellor Zabini is very generous," she said evenly, but when she looked up at Draco, her eyes flashed extra meaning. Draco got the message: they weren't going to talk about this now.

"Will you please contact Wes by mirror and tell him to pull the car around? Carl's already waiting for us at the Spanish Embassy and I'm afraid I'm running a bit late. What?" Draco had let out a noise at the mention of Wes.

"What's he going to say? I stole his spot!" Draco felt horrible. Already, it had been over a month since he and the American had traded friendly words, not for the lack of effort on Draco's part, but he was worried that this would sever all ties with the man completely. But Hermione waved away his anxiety.

"Technically, a driver is always a Number Four, a position for which Wes is clearly very well suited. You were only a Number Four and he a Number Three while you were new. I could have a Number Three as a Driver, but that position holds some responsibilities that Wes doesn't have time for."

"But-" Draco protested.

"Don't worry, Wes won't be insulted. You can't think of a higher Number as being 'better' or 'worse' than another Number. They simply are responsible for different things. You may have access to the library, but Wes has different security clearances you'll never have that are linked to his station as a Number Four."

Draco shrugged his shoulders, trying to appear uninterested, but inside he heaved a sigh of relief. Hermione buckled the top to her briefcase. "Please go tell Wes and send Bev in, we'll all be riding together, you in the back with me." Draco could tell from her look that this seating arrangement was on purpose. "Oh, and I'll make the announcement of your promotion this afternoon, after the meeting." Draco nodded and left, gesturing to Bev as he opened the door for her to go in.

Out of the office, Draco tapped his mirror and called down to Wes, telling him to pull the car around. His interaction with the American was short and controlled. It seemed to Draco that Wes didn't want to spend any more time on the call with him than he had to, and it made Draco feel unhappy. Even so, he still didn't know exactly what he had done wrong. He knew that getting his friend drunk and breaking into the Ministry was a bad thing, but Draco couldn't figure out why Wes was taking so hard to heart. If there was one thing Draco never had to do in his life, it was to realize his mistakes and apologize.

The ride across London would take them some time, it was the middle of the day and traffic was starting to pick up. In the back of the transport vehicle across from Hermione, Draco looked out the window watching the muggle streets. Behind him, he could hear Bev and Wes in quiet conversation. "Put the divider up," Hermione told Draco, breaking him away from his thoughts. Once the barrier was in place, he looked at his boss, raising an eyebrow in question. He frowned when he saw her start to grin.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked. The expression left her face immediately.

"I'm not smiling," Hermione said quickly. They looked at each other for a beat before Hermione rushed on. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you a little more about the library and how it works so you don't look like totally incompetent when you show up there for research tomorrow." Draco nodded, listening.

"The doors are never locked for anyone, day or night, however it is necessary for a visitor to scan their ID badge and have a very good reason to be in the library. This place is one of the pride and joys of the Ministry and it is the most extensive collection of wizarding information and largest storage facility in the whole of our world. We are very proud of it, and have gone to great lengths to ensure that the books and papers housed in its depths are as secure as they would be in a vault at Gringott's."

It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Still love your libraries, eh, Granger?" He couldn't help the jab. The comment wasn't malicious, as it would have been if they were at Hogwarts, it was simply part of his nature to tease, a fact which Hermione understood. As long as his comments stayed this side of insulting, she would let him be himself. That didn't mean that she had to give him the satisfaction of rising to the bait.

"So it would seem. General reading books are, of course, out in the open part of the library's Grand Gallery and are available to anyone of the public as long as they posses a Visitors Pass acquired from the lobby on the first floor. It is the individual sections that require extra identification and signed permissions. If you don't scan your ID card at the beginning of a section and try to force your way in, or use an unauthorized ID card for the wrong section, the alarms go off, regardless of how valuable the information is within a section. No second chances in the library, it's too important."

There are millions of shelves in the library," Hermione continued. "All tightly packed and rising to the ceiling. These shelves are charmed so that if you know what section you want to browse through, or what book you desire, they shuffle around to bring everything you need down to eye level."

Draco interjected. "Why don't you use that muggle technology of housing many books in one place, in that metal square thing with a screen?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "How much more transi-tech do you think we can introduce into our society before the community begins to protest? Some traditions, Malfoy, must remain in place. We are not so far gone that we must forget our wizarding roots, and I think the largest, most secure, and best magical library in the world is good enough to remain without much transi-tech, don't you think?"

"I was just wondering."

"Anyway," Hermione continued, fishing a file folder out of her bag and passing it to Draco. "The section that you will primarily be working in is called 'Legal Documents', it will say so on the door to the room. In the folder is a map, yes right there, that will show you where the room is located. It's a short walk, but since hardly anyone goes in the room, you'll be alone for most of the time." Draco flipped through the rest of the papers in the folder as Hermione went on.

"I've included in that folder what we're looking for and what you should be researching. I hope I do not have to remind you that this project is for our eyes only and should posses about it an air of secrecy at all times. Don't look at me like that, I'm just making sure you understand everything I'm asking of you."

"Yes, I understand. I'm not stupid, you know." Draco closed the folder and tucked it away in his jacket, the small amount of magic woven into his suit shrinking the file down to fit in his pocket.

Hermione sighed. "I do not expect you to do this research all on your own, I will be joining you as often as my work and secrecy allows. Unfortunately, you will have to keep up your attendance in your MDPA classes, but the term is ending soon in December, so you only have a few weeks left having to balance it all. Are you alright with that?"

Draco nodded, even though he dreaded doing all of this and trying to do his own research while taking classes and working as a Number. "Yes it's fine, I can handle it."

"Good. I will also authorize you use of my personal scanner for you to store the information you discover or that you think is pertinent to our situation. I want you to be as thorough as possible."

The vehicle rolled to an easy stop in front of an impressive-looking building. "And Malfoy," Hermione added with a flash of a grin as Bev opened the door for her boss to get out. "Don't fuck it up." The witch exited the car and the door shut on Draco who was smiling at Hermione's use of the swear word. _Maybe this was going to be fun_.

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><p><strong>It's been so long, but review? ILU<strong>


	17. Chapter 16 New

**I decided I wanted to add this chapter in before I update on more Draco Hermione stuff. So in this chapter, we get to check up on what Sherlock is doing and what happens when he goes to visit Harry like Hermione asked him to do back in chapter 11.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 16 – Thursday, November 17th, 5:38 p.m.<p>

...

"That's very cute, Ginny, but I'm not laughing," Harry Potter said while laughing.

Ginny flicked some water at him. "You're such a liar!" she giggled and she turned to James who was kicking his feet in his highchair.

The famous wizard was home from work early, and his wife had been trying to make him laugh by pretending that James was cooking their dinner when the doorbell rang. "I'm still not laughing!" Harry called out over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to the entrance to their flat. Harry opened the door with a smile, still chuckling at his wife's antics. "Yes?"

The man that stood before him was tall, with a mess of black curls and a cunning look in his eye. "Harry James Potter?" The stranger had a deep voice, full of subtleties Harry couldn't place.

"Yes," Harry said again, this time drawing the word out, his guard at once on alert. "Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, the Alderman sent me."

At once, Harry's demeanor changed to all business. "Of course. Come in." Sherlock stepped into the apartment and looked around, eyes darting to every surface of the hall. "If you will wait right here a moment, my wife and I will be right with you." Harry left the tall man lingering just inside the door as he walked back to the kitchen to speak to Ginny. The redhead noticed immediately that something was wrong.

"Darling," Harry said in a strange voice. "It looks like Hermione's sent us a bit of an _uncanny_ present."

Ginny adopted the same tone, causal but sharp at the edges as if she were being watched. "Darling, how odd, does the baby need a nap?"

Harry shook his head. "It seems to be a nice enough gift, Darling. Living room?"

"Of course, Darling." Ginny picked James up from the highchair and brought the cooing babe into the living room as Harry walked back to the hall. Sitting on the couch holding James, Ginny could hear her husband ask who ever it was to follow him into the room. A tall, handsome man followed Harry and Ginny was struck by how different looking he was. James started to squirm and Ginny was distracted from her study of the stranger by searching for a toy to keep her son occupied.

Harry invited the man to sit one of the two chairs opposite the couch were his wife and son were. "Ginny, this is Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Holmes, this is my wife." Harry took a seat on the couch as Ginny nodded to the man who stared back with eyes that seemed to take in every detail. James babbled his own "hello".

"Let's keep this brief, shall we?" Sherlock started.

"By all means," Harry added.

"I am what your people call a 'muggle'. I had no prior knowledge about your world before a couple of months ago when I followed a man named Draco Malfoy into you Ministry of Magic. Apparently I'm too intelligent for your spells to work on me so Alderman Granger took them off, inducting me into your society for the use of my talents." Ginny thought the man looked dreadfully bored having to say these words, but she didn't mention it. "I am under her orders to secretly investigate these 'Dark Pockets' and try to discover if they hold any connection with mysterious happenings." Ginny could see the man's eyes sparkle behind these words. _Clearly, he's more interested in this,_ she thought.

"So why are you here?" Harry asked, causing Sherlock to inhale sharply in annoyance.

"I was getting to that, Mr. Potter. You're very famous for not doing much, aren't you?" Sherlock cocked his head at Harry who narrowed his eyes.

Ginny jumped in. "Now that's not fair, you don't know anything-"

"Oh but I do know," Sherlock interrupted softly, still staring at Harry. "And what I could not learn from the books about you, Mr. Potter, I can deduce right here, right now. You're very bored, aren't you?" Ginny saw her husband stiffen.

"Harry?" she asked, shifting James to play on his blanket on the floor in front of her. "What is he talking about?"

The wizard didn't turn and look at his wife, continuing to stare at Sherlock. "Nothing, Ginny, the man has no idea what he's saying."

Sherlock looked insulted. "You're bored, Mr. Potter, not with your family, but with your life. There's no adventure anymore, nothing for you to do. Your world no longer needs your help and you have no idea how to live a normal life."

"I have a normal life, that's all I've ever wanted," Harry protested through clenched teeth.

Sherlock shook his head. "That is not at all the case. You long for danger, long for a thrill. You want it back so badly that you are enjoying this right now, letting a complete stranger into your home where your wife and son are." Ginny picked James back up, unsettled. "But you hate yourself for wishing evil upon the world just so you can have one last taste of adrenaline, that one last mystery for you to solve. You are not as famous as you once were, Mr. Potter, people are starting to forget and you can't stand it."

"How dare you?" Ginny cried out. "It has been eight years since the worst war our society has ever seen! No one has forgotten the deaths, the-" Ginny stopped when her husband spoke.

"How could you possibly know all of that?" Harry asked, amazed in spite of himself.

Sherlock sat back. "I'm good, Mr. Potter, very good. Which is why Alderman Granger sent me here tonight to talk to you." Sherlock paused and looked at the pair of them. "It's about the Ghost File."

"Figured," Ginny grumbled, annoyed by the behavior of this strange man. He ignored her comment.

"In all my intelligence, I cannot hope to ever understand enough about magic and its theory during the time in which Alderman Granger needs me to complete this task. I am here tonight to offer you what you want: an adventure. I need your help, Mr. Potter, I need you to journey with me to find out why someone is killing witches and wizards, taking magic from Dark Pockets, and why they have placed Alderman Hermione Granger under a most disturbing spell."

The Potters looked stunned. "Under a spell? Hermione?" Ginny tried to imagine who would do such a thing. When her friend had asked her to open a Ghost File, Ginny had never guessed that it would be because of a spell that was controlling her. "You have got to be joking," Ginny added, trying to make sense of it all. Harry put a hand on her knee. Ginny quieted and stared at her husband.

Harry was sitting back on the couch, face stony. "Travel cross-country? I did that once already and once was enough for me, thanks." Sherlock remained quiet, evaluating the wizard across from him, letting the silence work on the famous man. Harry shifted in his seat. "I can't just leave and go gallivanting off across Britain! I have a job, a family, I have responsibilities now that I cannot abandon." Sherlock still remained silent. "Did Hermione really ask you to come here tonight?"

The detective finally spoke up. "She did. She told me that once I was done up North, to come find you. I really do need your help, and so does this world. Once again, someone has endangered the lives of your fellow magical citizens and once again, you can do something about it."

Harry turned to Ginny, who was astonished to see a look of pleasure spreading across her husband's face. "Harry?" she asked, gently.

"I have to, Ginny, you know what he's saying is true. From what we've learned so far with the Ghost File, Hermione's behavior has been odd of late, and the Ministry isn't getting any closer to an answer about the Shortage. Someone has to do it."

Ginny held James close to her. "But why you?" she asked. "Why does it have to be you?"

Harry leaned in and kissed her forehead. "It was always me," he answered.

"But last time there was a prophecy, something that directly related to you. This time I can't help but get the feeling you're just doing this because you can."

Harry chuckled with little mirth. "Should not those who have the means take up the responsibility?"

"Oh don't quote from Sirius' old letters, you know how that always works on me," Ginny tried to keep sounding annoyed, but she was starting to accept this fact that lay before her.

"I know," Harry smiled, cupping her cheek in his hand. He turned back to Sherlock who looked extremely bored. "What do we do now?"

"We leave this Saturday, making for Hadrian's Wall."

"Not on foot, I hope." Harry smiled at Ginny, sharing a memory.

Sherlock stood up and produced a train ticket, handing it to Harry. "I will see you at quarter past 10 on Saturday morning at King's Cross Station. Pack for danger, Mr. Potter." Sherlock's tone was condescending. The man left the room and made for the door. Harry jumped up and followed him, stopping him just before Sherlock could leave.

"One more thing…how did you know all that about me? About me being…bored?"

Sherlock paused on the stoop, his mouth tightening before he took a deep breath and turned back to the wizard. "I did not know, Mr. Potter, I observed. When you answered the door, you held yourself with a fighting stance, even though you were at ease. You have no transi-force in your house and it is illegal to use the magic in your wand after a certain time of day; strange then, for a man with your history of violence, to not want a weapon. You ask for danger to come upon you, facing it boldly, brazenly, daring anyone to take you down without a fight."

Your clock on the mantelpiece, the clock right here in the hall, and your watch right there on your wrist, they are all set two minutes fast, all exactly the same down to the second hand. Two minutes, now that's an odd amount of time. Usually people who are late choose three, five, or even ten minutes but not two. No, not you, you're not worried about being late, famous people always know that things start whenever they arrive. Two minutes is the perfect amount of time in which to make decision, any decision, planning for future moments no one can predict but that you, if thinking two minutes before everyone, can plan for better, faster, and smarter."

It's obvious that you're bored just by the fact that you're constantly tapping your foot, rubbing your neck, adjusting your glasses. It's all in how you hold yourself, ready to jump up at a moments notice to be needed. But as soon as I walked into your living room, all of that fidgeting stopped dead. You were completely focused on me and interested too, even though I could have posed a threat to you and your family."

Sherlock finished his speech and Harry was left breathless. "How did…that's impossible," he finally managed to say. Sherlock just turned to walk down the front stairs.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. I will see you very soon."

Harry watched Sherlock Holmes make his way down the street until he disappeared around the bend. Shutting the door, Harry could feel himself smile.


	18. Chapter 17 New

**I worked hard on this new chapter for you all...lot's of Draco Hermione interaction...let me know what you think! :3**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 17 – Tuesday November 22nd – Wednesday November 23rd<p>

...

"You have got to be kidding me," Draco said to his flask.

It was late Tuesday night, not yet a full week after Hermione had given him that file folder in the back of the Ministry transport vehicle, and Draco was in the "Legal Documents" room of the library, conducting research. And his flask had just run dry. He sighed and put the empty container down on the table wishing he could cast a re-fill spell.

So far, his new schedule hadn't been too much of a strain on him physically, but the amount of multi-tasking he had to do was quickly catching up. In addition to the MDPA classes, which were nearing their final exams, Draco was researching both Hermione's problem and his trial all the while maintaining his work schedule as a Number Three. He was getting tired.

The news of Draco's promotion had been met with little enthusiasm by much of Hermione's staff. She had made the announcement as she had promised after her meeting with the Spanish Ministry's ambassador. Much to Draco's relief, Hermione had had the tact not to make a huge deal of it, she had just told Carl, Wes, and Bev and a couple of other key members of Hermione's office. Blaise had been, for all appearances, thrilled with the change. Carl had muttered darkly, rolling his eyes like many of the other people gathered to hear the news. Bev had smiled warmly while Wes had just looked uninterested.

Draco turned a page in the present, trying not to think of Wes. Picking up the scanner, Draco ran it over the page he was reading, storing the information in the device to be transferred later. Tonight, he was researching the details of his trial. Draco hadn't found much, but just the fact that he was doing _something_ made him feel better. Hermione hadn't found out about his secret project either as he made sure to always transfer any information he discovered before the scanner ever came back to her office.

Even his time spent in the library went unnoticed. No one had asked why Draco was spending so much time doing research, for all intents and purposes, he was just another Number Three. Draco had to admit how clever Hermione was for that idea. _But she was always clever, _Draco thought, turning another page. _It's just now that she's not as annoying as she was before._ Although he did think it was a bit annoying that she hadn't followed through on her promise of helping him conduct some of this research, but Draco was glad she wasn't here tonight. The mystery of his trial was something he knew she would never understand.

He cracked his neck and wiped at his eyes. It was warm in the library, and Draco had been awake for far too long. He was starting to feel comfortable. Even though his flask was now empty of scotch, his head was still pleasantly swimming. He felt his eyes begin to close.

Jerking them open, Draco rearranged himself on his seat, shaking out his muscles and coughing, trying to force his body to stay awake. The light-orb above him flickered merrily, like a fire, the effect hypnotic. Draco read the same sentence five times before settling on staring at the paragraph, out of focus.

He yawned, and then agreed to only put his head down for a few minutes. If he could just rest for a minute, then he could get on with this maddening research…

_"Draco…" _

_The voice was familiar._

"_Draco…"_

_He was lying in a field and the light was pleasant and golden. He smiled up at the sun and relaxed into the grass, enjoying the warm air and the light breeze around his skin. The tall grass waved over his head, causing the sun's rays to flicker and dance over his body. He smiled. He might have been seven or twenty-seven years old, he wasn't sure. In this field, he was just himself, but all his ages at once. This was a place he had been before and would come to again._

_ "Draco…"_

_ It was the voice of someone he knew._

_ He got up and started to run through the grass towards the familiar voice. Cutting through the waving sea of green became hard: the ground had turned sludgy. The grass changed, the blades darkened, browning and turning hard, morphing into tough reeds that cut and slapped at his face as he ran._

_ "Draco…"_

_ Was that…his father? Draco's breath came harder and harder as he ran on, the sea of coarse weeds biting at his skin, the muddy earth slowing him down. He couldn't reach him! He would never make it! A huge gust of wind suddenly sliced past him, blowing down on his front, forcing him to bow his head and cover his face with his arms. It carried the voice._

_ "Draco!"_

_ It was louder this time, the volume rising as his name echoed in his ears. Where are you? He called out, his own voice snapped into silence by this ocean of weeds. Father?_

_Then: the wind stopped, the sharp grass stopped their relentless assault on his skin. Draco slowly uncovered his face, arms gradually dropping to his sides. "Draco…" the voice came again. Draco felt hot breath at his back and slowly turned, bracing himself. _

_ "Find her! A giant rotting face slammed into his field of vision, screaming. It was his father."Draco, find her!"_

_ Suddenly, Draco was alone in the meadow again, and the grass was green, soft, and inviting. He lay back down on the springy earth and closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of his decaying father._

Draco felt a tickling sensation on his nose. He frowned, coming out of the strange dream slowly, like the rising sun. He lazily brought his hand up to swat away the flower from bothering him further when he heard a wrinkling sound as he pushed the plant away.

It wasn't a flower; it was a page…_of a book?_ Draco sat up suddenly, heart rocketing to his stomach.

He had fallen asleep in the library.

"You stupid, fucking idiot!" Draco berated himself as he leapt up from the table, hastily slamming books and running them to the shelves to put them back. "You've got to be _kidding _me. Of all the damn things to do… I fall _asleep_? You can't be serious." Draco kicked himself all the way back to Hermione's offices. His heart beat wildly with hope that everyone else would have overslept that morning. Draco knew he wouldn't get in trouble for staying late or being in the library. As a Number Three, library privileges were afforded to him, but Hermione had wanted him to be as discreet about the project as possible, and showing up late for work because he was doing secret research wasn't exactly keeping what they were doing on the _down-low_. It also didn't help the fact that Draco was supposed to have been on Night Watch all evening.

Running up the stairs, Draco tried to smooth his hair that had been crumpled up on one side by sleeping on the book. He straightened his tie and smoothed his uniform, hoping that this last-ditch effort in grooming would leave his nightly activities undiscovered. He almost cried out in relief when he slammed the door open to Hermione's floor and there was no one there but a couple of under-secretaries in the far corner, and they hadn't seen him.

Nerves buzzing, Draco tried not to celebrate his luck too much as he calmly walked over to where his desk was. His head felt light, hopeful. _I can't believe I made it. _Draco thought with a sly grin as he rounded the corner to his desk. _It must be earlier than I thought._ Before he could check the time, pain ached in his backside as he sat on something hard. He stood up, swearing to himself for the second time that morning.

The scanner was still in his back pocket.

Draco quickly checked the time and groaned. Approved Magic Hours weren't on for another two hours. He wouldn't be able to get the information he had stored on the scanner onto parchment until then. He couldn't even use the magic from another piece of tech, it was too much information to move and it would require much more magic then was in the mirror or earpiece. Draco quickly weighed his options. He could put the scanner back with the information still on it and hope that Hermione wouldn't check, or he could keep the scanner at his desk. _Except that Granger would ask me why I hadn't put it back. "_Fuck_," _Draco swore again when he realized his third option.

He would have to erase the info he had stored in the scanner before he put it back. Draco tried not to think of all the hard work he was about to flush down the drain as he pushed the 'erase all' button on the side of the transi-tech device. Draco felt like punching someone and was glad that he had a martial arts class today.

He looked around the office, checking for suspicious on-lookers. A couple of more people had trickled in as he had waged internal war with himself over deleting the scanner, but they weren't a threat. Their cubicles or offices were on the opposite side of Hermione's floor. Draco glanced at the clock. He had to move now if he wanted to avoid the morning rush. He walked at a normal pace over to Hermione's door and quietly turned the knob. The handle immediately recognized Draco's handprint and let him in unquestioningly. Easing the door shut, Draco dashed over to her desk before carefully opening the top drawer and replacing the scanner.

A hum of voices came from outside the office, alerting Draco. More people were arriving for the workday, and he had to get out of Hermione's office. Leaving as fast as he could, Draco quietly closed the door and turned, bumping straight into Carl.

"What are you doing?"

Draco almost pissed himself. "Uh, uh, rounds. Sir," he hastily said.

"Where were you last night?"

Draco realized his jaw was wide open. He shut it immediately. "I, uh, I was here, pulling the Night Watch shift. Like you told me to." He tried to look innocent.

Carl crossed his arms slowly over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "We have _got_ to make you into a better liar."

"I was good once," Draco said forcing a bored tone, expression and attitude finally under control once more.

Carl eyed his left forearm. "Oh, we all know that."

Draco didn't bother trying to hide his arm; the gesture of throwing his right hand to cover his Dark Mark was useless now. He would only be covering a white scar, slightly raised and very puckered, the original form almost impossible to make out. There was nothing left for Draco to hide, and Carl knew it.

"So where were you last night?"

Draco stuck out his chin stubbornly, deciding to stick to his story. "Like I said, I was here. I'll admit, I snuck out early for a coffee, but I didn't leave the floor other than that during my shift." Draco was sure Carl wouldn't be able to find any evidence on the contrary. Carl narrowed his eyes and searched the blonde's gaze. _Well, fairly sure, _Draco thought, trying not to swallow hard.

The trick to selling a good lie was that to admit to something bad but with little consequence, something they'll overlook in deference to the real act. Draco had learned this in his Tactics and Analysis class but it hadn't been new to him. He had long since learned how well this worked back in Hogwarts.

Draco tried not to let his breath go all in one gust when Carl waved him on. "Very well, go clean up and report back in an hour." Draco nodded and turned on his heel. _It always works_, he smirked to himself as he took the stairs two at a time down to the showers the Ministry installed for the wizards who had to work the Night Watch.

"Sneaky fuck," Carl muttered to himself as he watched the blonde go. He couldn't say it out loud as it would be against office policies but he hated Malfoy. He knew all about his boyhood at Hogwarts and his parents' dealings with the Dark Lord. Carl had fought at the battle of Hogwarts and he remembered the anger he felt when he saw the Malfoy family sitting at one of the tables in the Great Hall at the war's conclusion.

Regardless of what Harry Potter had said, and regardless of the Ministry's stance on forgiveness and unity, Carl still didn't like Draco and would ever accept him. Too many of Carl's friends had been killed by Voldemort in the war and Carl was simply too set in his thoughts to get over his prejudices. The older wizard sighed and sat down at his desk, getting ready for the day.

...

Draco let the hot water fall over his skin, enjoying the way the steam calmed his mind. Alone in the showers, he was relaxed with his body facing the spigot, arm outstretched to the wall supporting his weight. His head was bent and the water ran over his bowed head, causing his hair to fall in his closed eyes. He had an hour to spare, and unlike most other Numbers or MDP's, he wouldn't waste that time traveling back and forth to his apartment. Draco's thoughts briefly dwelled on apparating, but he knew full well that it was impossible.

He shuddered, thinking of the wizards who tried to apparate before everyone knew about the Magic Shortage. One of Draco's classes had touched upon this event in passing, but he still cringed to think about the record-breaking number of splinches that had occurred during that time. Many people had even died before word was spread and apparating was banned.

"Malfoy," came a voice from outside the shower. Draco jumped and spun around quickly, trying to reach for the transi-tech on his waist that wasn't there, spluttering as water ran into his eyes and mouth. "My goodness, you're easy to sneak up on, someone could have killed you by now."

Draco shut off the water and wiped at his eyes. "What the…_Granger?_ What the fuck are you doing here?"

Hermione's voice came from behind a row of lockers. "I'm not looking. Just put on a towel or something and hurry up, I need to talk to you."

_Of all the crazy things…_Draco thought to himself darkly as he found his towel and hurriedly dried himself off before wrapping it tightly around his waist. "Decent," he called out. Hermione stepped out from behind the lockers with an odd expression on her face. She was wearing heels and a pencil skirt like she usually did, a silk blouse tucked in at her waist but she was carrying something...Draco's stomach lurched when he saw it was the scanner. He crossed his arms and leaned up against one of the lockers, doing his best to appear casual. "Do you normally sneak up on men in the shower, or does being an Alderman give you an excuse for being a pervert?"

Hermione ignored his comment but her eyes flashed. "I am in no mood this morning Malfoy, _no mood, _for your stupid remarks." Her voice held a quiet fury that made Draco hesitate. Suddenly, he felt very exposed.

"Then cut the drama and tell me what this is all about," he said, masking his apprehension by digging in his gym bag on a bench for a shirt. He tugged it on and after he pulled it over his head, he jumped when he saw that Hermione had moved closer to him.

"I don't know what in Merlin's name you are playing at with this," Hermione said peering up at Draco, her face a mask of anger. "But this is the stupidest, most idiotic, _reckless_ thing I have ever seen." She jabbed the scanner into his chest with her words.

Draco pushed it away with his hands. "I'm still in the dark here, _Alderman_. Are you going to tell me what I did wrong now?"

Hermione drew back and took a breath, as if composing herself. "The 'erase all' function takes a while to work and once I saw it was in the middle of an info dump, I paused it to see what it was erasing. There wasn't much left, but I got the main idea."

"Oh," was all Draco could say, his bravado deflating.

"Your _trial? _What are you trying to prove? Do you _want _to give them an excuse to place you back in exile? If someone found this, the courts would have no trouble making your removal from our society a _permanent_ one." Hermione was furious. She couldn't believe that Draco would purposefully jeopardize their mission; she had thought that he was taking it seriously, not just using it as a ploy to advance his own position. Hermione was also scared by the fact that if he _had _gotten caught, her clarity of mind would have disappeared with him.

"It won't happen again," Draco said, stonily.

Hermione scoffed. "You're damn right it won't happen again. I have a half a mind to-"

"To fire me?" Draco interrupted. "You can't. You said so yourself, you _need_ me."

Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I could find someone else from Hogwarts who would be happy to help me and with a much better attitude." Her tone was sharp, but Draco caught a flash of something else in her face. It all clicked into place for him then.

"No…" he said, the idea dawning on him.

"No? No what?" Hermione asked crossing her arms and clenching her jaw.

Draco smiled down at the woman, his posture relaxing back into easy confidence. "No, you wouldn't find someone else. I mean, you really wouldn't be able to replace me. You actually need _me, _not just anyone from Hogwarts but me in particular."

Hermione felt her stomach drop. "I-I have no idea what you are talking about," she stammered.

Draco shook his head. "Stop trying to play dumb. Tell me why you need me around you." Hermione kept her mouth shut. Draco growled in frustration. "Stop keeping secrets from me! I'm your Number Three, for fucks sake! I've agreed to help you spy on our government and I'm standing here in a damn _towel_ asking you to tell. The. Truth!" Draco punctuated his words with three large steps toward Hermione, his tall frame backing her into the lockers.

Hermione pushed at his shoulders and stepped sideways away from him. "Do not threaten me, Malfoy. It will not end well for you." But as soon as she touched his chest, even through his shirt, she felt her mind ease out of the shadows: she felt relief.

"There! Right there!" Draco shouted. "What just happened?" Hermione shook her head and backed away, palms up in front of her as if in surrender. Draco followed her movement cornering her once more, her back up against the edge of a sink. Hermione still held her hands up, but moved them to cover her face, which was turned away from the blonde man. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for something…she didn't know what.

"Why am I so important?" Draco asked quietly, more to himself than to the witch. He frowned; thinking hard, and slowly brought up his left hand and, hesitating only for a moment, placed his palm against her right one. Hermione sucked in a breath and Draco raised his eyebrows in amazement. "It's…my touch?" He brought his other hand up and placed it against Hermione's left palm. "No, it can't be." He moved their hands away from Hermione's face. She was now looking right at him, eyes bright with emotion. Draco suddenly jerked his hands back from hers and stepped away. He sat down hard on the bench behind him.

"I didn't want to tell you because I don't fully understand it myself," Hermione said, slightly breathless. "But for some reason when you're around, the darkness in my mind falls back and when I touch you…well, it seems that the closer I am to you physically, the better I feel. Don't you see? That's why I promoted you."

"I'll try not to be insulted by that one, thanks."

Hermione straightened her skirt, feeling her more in control of the situation again. "Oh, get over yourself," she said, rolling her eyes.

Draco stood up from the bench to pace. "But why would it be me? Why me out of the millions of other wizards out there?"

Hermione turned her back to Draco, checking her reflection in the mirror, making sure she still looked professional. "That's what I'm _trying _to figure out with the research I _assigned_ you, that you so carelessly tossed aside I might add. Do you think I _like_ having this…_thing_…be true?" she asked him, looking at his reflection while she smoothed her blouse.

The blonde scoffed. "Hey, don't ask me, you're the one with those 'proximity issues', not me." Draco used air quotes.

"Issues?" Hermione asked, whirling around to face him. "Don't you dare talk to me like that. I am your superior-"

Draco cut her off. "Oh don't act all better than me, you look like a total prick when you do that. What happened to you? I never liked you in school, but I do remember you not being such a-"

She stamped her foot. "Nothing happened to me, this is who I am!" Hermione screamed, finally loosing her temper. "_I_ saved the Ministry, _I_ helped our society get better! If it weren't for me we'd all still be living in despair! I did this, I built this all without any help; me, me, _me!_" The pair stood in silence for a moment, Draco looking down at Hermione in disgust.

"Well, you turned out great, I bet your parents are proud."

Hermione gave a short laugh. "As if you turned out any better." They glared at each other in silence before the bathroom door swung open onto two MDPA trainees talking amiably about a kickboxing session. Hermione ran to the door, putting her weight behind it and shutting it against the two students. "This locker room is closed for emergency maintenance! Go away!" She locked the door against their protests. She turned around, leaning her back against the door.

Draco was shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, this certainly sheds some light on a few things." Hermione remained quiet. Draco finally heaved a sigh. "First thing's first, will you let me get dressed? I feel like a prat standing here in a towel."

"Oh! Of course!" Hermione rushed to stand around the other side of the lockers, putting the blue metal structure between her and Draco. She leaned her back against the lockers, quiet for a moment before movement caught her eye. Hermione turned and swallowed hard. She could see Draco's reflection in the mirror above the sink. He still had his shirt on but below the waist, he was very naked. Hermione's eyes widened as she froze. His back was to the mirror and she could only see his backside and his long, muscled legs before he pulled on a pair of boxers followed by his uniform trousers.

"What I really want to know is why you wanted to keep this from me," Draco asked tightening his buckle and turning around. Hermione quickly looked away from the mirror. She could feel the warmth of a blush on her cheeks. "Why keep it a secret?" Draco walked around the lockers to the side Hermione was on, now fully dressed.

Hermione kept her gaze directly forward, staring at the blank wall of the men's locker room. "I didn't think you'd believe me…or like it." She stole a glance at him.

Draco put an arm up against the lockers and leaned his forehead against his wrist, rubbing his eye with his thumb knuckle. "Granger," he sighed heavily. "Did you not think you could even try and give me a chance?" He dropped his arm and shook his head at her. Hermione felt like she was a child that had just disappointed a parent. "Of course I don't like it either but maybe you could tell me next time when it directly involves me?"

"Well then next time won't you tell me about your trial? I'm not the only one keeping secrets around here you know," Hermione said. "What _were _you thinking, Malfoy?"

Draco gave her an odd look, as if considering something. "Honestly? You know why. It wasn't a fair trial, mine or my parents'. I saw you there, don't you remember? I saw you when the sentenced me to exile, you were crying."

Hermione bent her head in shame. She mumbled something.

"What?" Draco asked.

She looked up, brows knitted together in regret. "I remember. But there's nothing you can do about it now."

"Yes there is! I want _answers_. I want to find out why the Ministry let something like this happen to me. You have no idea, _no idea_, what it's like to leave this world. The agony I felt…" Draco's voice trailed off as his gaze slid down to the floor, remembering.

Hermione bit her lip. "I was raised a muggle, outside of all this. I can remember a time when I didn't know about magic."

"It's not the same!" Draco cried out, lifting his head to look at her again. "You've never had it taken away from you. I've been in this world all my life and what you–the Ministry did…" his voice cracked. "They ripped my heart right out of my chest." Draco put his hand up to his heart when he said those words, pain deep in his eyes. "You will never know," he finished in a whisper. Hermione didn't say anything. "I'm not asking you to believe me or even care, but I am asking you to have a little faith and let me find the truth." Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. "What?" Draco asked after a moment.

"Hermione blinked. "I don't think we've ever spoken this much to each other before. Like, ever."

Draco took a step back, thoughts pulling out of their gloom. "No, I don't suppose we have."

"It's 9:15," Hermione said, checking her watch. "We have to go to work."

"Are you going to let me keep researching my trial?" Draco asked, unmoving.

Hermione considered this. "Are you still going to help me?"

"That depends. You're not going to be grabbing onto me at random moments are you?"

Hermione sighed a short laugh. "No, it's fine if I'm just near you, but I don't have to touch you all the time to feel the effects. I mean it helps but-"

"Good," Draco cut her off. "So, back to work then?" he asked. Hermione gave a curt nod and walked past him to unlocking the bathroom door. Draco moved back to get his gym bag. "Oh and next time," he said, throwing the bag over his shoulder and walking back toward Hermione. "Keep your eyes to yourself. It's rude to stare, even if it is through a mirror."

Hermione choked and hurried out of the locker room, leaving Draco to bring up the rear with a smirk.


	19. Chapter 18 New

**Another new chapter! Just under 3,000 words, but more coming later today and tomorrow as well. I hope you like! This is about Blaise and how he...well, you'll see.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 18 – Thursday, December 1st, 2:44 p.m.<p>

...

Chancellor Blaise Zabini was pleased. Sitting behind his desk in his office, the powerful man was looking over several files containing reports on certain matters that were…_very promising, indeed._ A knock sounded on his door and he looked up expectantly as his Number One came through the door. "Ah, yes, come in, Henri," Blaise said warmly, looking back down at his desk. Reshuffling the reports into their files, Blaise waited for Henri to speak.

"Sir, I regret to inform you that the deaths in Bramshill are climbing to a suspicious amount, starting to make the papers, even. Perhaps we should withdr-"

Blaise stood up, startling his Number One into silence. "If you ever, _ever_, tell me how you think I should conduct my affairs, it will be the last thing you do," Blaise said in a low, dangerous voice. "I run this country, not you, do you understand?" The bodyguard swallowed and nodded after a moment. Blaise relaxed into a jovial manner. "There, you see? Things are as they should be. Now, anything else?" Blaise sat back down, waiting expectantly.

Henri was quiet for a moment before adjusting the collar on his jacket. "Another is about to break."

Blaise nodded to the man coolly. "Thank you, Henri, you may go." The Number quickly withdrew from the office. Once alone, Blaise swivled in his chair and faced the windows that were at his back, looking out over the city of London. Pensive for several minutes, the man was a picture of calm dignity. It seemed as if he were collecting his thoughts, preparing for a significant moment yet to come. Then, on some unseen cue, Blaise stood up and walked out from behind his desk. Retrieving his wand from within the breast pocket of his chancellor robe, Blaise locked the door before waving the tool around the circumference of the room, spelling it against detection. Once satisfied, he moved to the middle of his office.

Practicing a series of complicated wand motions, Blaise whispered an ancient incantation that deepened the black among the shadows and curled the air into harsh, crackling pain. He chanted the spell over and over again, his voice growing harsh in the burnt atmosphere of his office, now covered by darkness at the corners and filling with a poisonous light radiating from the center.

"_Antiquis sanguinem et antiquis os_

_Lucerna aurora_

_Lucerna tenebris_

_Nusquam semper abiit_

_/_

_Old blood and old bone_

_Light of dawn_

_Light of dark_

_Never be forever gone"_

The tip of his wand began to glow a sickly green, the path of the light leaving a large symbol hovering in the air before the man. The rune complete, Blaise rolled up his sleeve and faced the center of the floating lettering with a wild look on his face. His eyes were deep black with no white left, the pits as empty as the darkening shadows that seemed to reach for him from the corners of the room with groping tendrils. Blood started to trickle out of his nose and drip down into his mouth, lips parted in a sickening smile, his white teeth chattering in their gums. Taking a step back for momentum, Blaise plunged his hand into the center of the rune.

A rumble shook the office, upturning chairs and cracking the glass shelves on the opposite wall. A lamp crashed to the ground in one corner. Blaise didn't notice any of it. The man was standing with his feet far apart, supporting the tremors that came from the rune now swirling around his right arm. Black electricity crackled over his skin in waves, rushing up past his shoulder and disappearing into his chest. He twisted his hand around in the rune, feeling for something. A loud _boom_ sounded as his fingers closed around something solid. Blaise's smile widened.

"_Potentia est meapte!_" he shouted over a wind that had picked up in the room, whipping his robe around his body. Suddenly, all noise stopped, the shadows halted in their progress and the rune stopped spinning. A huge non-sound vibrating within the still air thrummed from within the rune as it collapsed in on itself, disappearing with a small snap. In a split second of absolute quiet, Blaise blinked, eyelashes hitting eyelid slowly, as if time itself was grinding to a halt.

Then, with all the power and force of a bomb, light exploded out from around Blaise's arm, air rushing furiously past the wizard in a loud cacophony of power. Dark black light surged around the room, whirling around the perimeter as if stalking the confines with a bracing speed. Power, light, and sound circled in a vortex around Blaise howling without a voice, without a mouth, but in deep, untempered fury.

Above the noiseless shrieks and screams Blaise shouted the last of the spell. "_Ad me! Ad me! Potentia! Ad me!_" he bellowed. Finally the raucous din subsided, the howling wind whistling into calm, the green light dimming to a flicker. All the magic that Blaise had been controlling shrank and folded until it hovered in a small, glowing sphere, no larger than a marble, in the palm of his still outstretched right hand.

"There you are, my love," Blaise crooned to the thing, bringing it close to him. "All mine," he whispered and swallowed it whole. The man collapsed onto the floor, head bent and chest heaving. His deep gasps slowly transformed into a maniacal giggle as he struggled to stand up, in control of his body again. He crawled over to his desk and pulled himself up, grunting with the effort. Slowly, he straightened his bent form; a dark smiled spreading over his face.

There was someone he wanted to see…

...

Draco was sitting in a chair he had pulled into the far corner of Hermione's office. It was a bit in shadow, but he wanted to be as far away from the witch as possible while still being perceived as "cooperative". It had been just less than a week since she had confronted him in the locker room and admitted the true reason for keeping Draco close at hand. Draco turned a page in his textbook he was studying for exams with and glanced up at the witch with a frown. He didn't like it one bit. The past days had filled Draco's mind with hundreds of questions and thoughts to which he had no answers. _Why me?_ He thought bitterly to himself, for the millionth time. _What the fuck is so special about me?_

Fortunately, this new found semi-truce with Hermione had sped up his research time considerably. No longer having to sneak around and keep track of the information in the scanner, Draco found that his diminished stress level left room for other, more important things. He found that he now had a clearer head and a better capacity for critical thinking, allowing him to progress with his research, study for his exams, and still be Hermione's Number Three all with relative ease. Draco knew he didn't have it _that_ bad at all. It was just the whole thing with Hermione…_fucking creepy_. He shuddered in his corner.

Growing up in the wizarding community and going to school at Hogwarts, Draco had seen some weird things and experienced his fair share of magical oddities, but this surpassed them all. This magic was completely new and neither party knew how to deal with it. It made Draco very uneasy. Still, he had agreed to stay close to the witch, knowing that the pay off would eventually mean solving his case and gaining freedom from his contract as a Number Three.

Draco was idly daydreaming about what he would do with all of his time once he was freed and how his liquor cabinet would look when the door to Hermione's office burst open, causing both Draco and Hermione to jump.

Blaise strode in: his formal robes askew and looking a bit ruffled, his expression twisted into an unfamiliar emotion that Draco couldn't place. "Hermione," the man said in a gravelly voice. The Chancellor strode right up to her desk, not bothering to look around the room and leaving Draco unnoticed in his chair.

Hermione stood up, uncertain of what to expect, with a quizzical look on her face. "Chancellor Zabini, sir," the witch said, hoping to add some sense of propriety into the unfamiliar situation. "Are you alright?"

Blaise stopped in his movement and sighed, laughing condescendingly. "How many times, girl? How many times? Call me _Blaise_," the man stared into Hermione, still grinning widely. Draco could see Hermione swallow hard and he made a move to get up but stopped when he saw Hermione give him the tiniest shake of her head.

"Yes, of course…Blaise…I forgot."

"You forget a lot of things nowadays, don't you?" Blaise asked, cocking his head at the witch.

Hermione paled. "I'm sorry?" she whispered. Silence stretched between them for a moment, broken only by Blaise stumbling back, off-balance. Hermione walked out from behind her desk, motioning to an empty chair behind Blaise. "Chancellor, you don't look well, why don't you sit?"

Blaise suddenly grabbed Hermione's arms, pinning them to her sides and dragging her close. Draco stood up, drawing his transi-force and pointing it at Blaise. "Let her go, Zabini!" he called out, cautiously approaching the two. "Let the Alderman go right now!" Draco started to sweat. _What was wrong with Blaise?_ He didn't know, but he could sense something was deadly wrong.

"What are you going to do, _Malfoy?_" Blaise spat, turning to look at Draco stepping sideways in a trained motion, maneuvering to a better angle while constantly getting closer. "Protect your precious little treasure?" The man's face had twisted into something so grotesque, it churned Draco's stomach.

Hermione struggled against his grip. "What are you doing, Blaise? Let go of me this instant, or my Number Three will shoot you!" She squirmed again, knocking the top of her head against Blaise's chin.

The wizard cried out in pain. "You fucking whore!" he screamed into Hermione's face, shaking the witch until she stopped protesting.

Draco drew closer. "I'm warning you! Let her go!"

Blaise ignored Draco and bent to whisper in Hermione's ear. "I _own_ you, you stupid bitch," he whispered.

"Zabini! _Now_!" Draco yelled.

The Chancellor let the woman go, hands spread wide in feigned innocence. "You would never shoot me, my old friend, you don't have the balls." Draco clenched his jaw and fired a warning shot just shy of one of Blaise's feet. The man looked down at the smoking burn mark on the carpet and back up to Draco in surprise. "My, my, my," the wizard taunted. "Perhaps you _aren't_ half the man your father was after all. And _that_ is saying something." Blaise's smile turned to a dark sneer. "Best tend to your charge, Draco, she looks a bit ill."

"Get out!" Draco yelled, feigning forward with his transi-tech, threatening another shot.

Blaise swept out of the office, slamming the door. Immediately, Draco sprinted to the door, wrenching it open and pointing his gun. "Stop him right…" Draco's yell trailed off into silence as startled faces met his gaze. There was no sign of Blaise anywhere, or that anyone in the main room of Hermione's floor had seen the Chancellor at all. "Did any of you hear that?" Draco trailed off again as the looks shooting his way turned to concerned curiosity. He dropped his weapon. "Where are the other Numbers?" he called out, his question meeting silence before someone in a cubicle slowly told Draco that Carl and Bev were on their way back from an MIS meeting and Wes was out on an errand. Another person asked what was wrong.

"Never mind," Draco mumbled, closing the door. _Blaise is…insane_, he thought before a noise made him turn his head. Hermione had groaned, swaying on the spot, blinking heavily.

"I don't feel so…" was all she said before falling down to the floor, her back sliding against the wood of her desk propping her up at an odd angle as if she were a doll. Draco didn't hesitate.

"Granger?" Draco spoke with concern as he quickly crossed the space to her side. "Are you okay?" Hermione didn't answer, instead staring past him into nothing. "Fuck," he swore, kneeling on the ground, transi-force lying discarded next to him. "Granger, say something." Draco took both his hands and cupped her face, smoothing back her curls to search her gaze. "Please, I can't get help until I know you're not going to-"

Hermione sucked in a ragged breath. "What just happened?" she said weakly.

Draco sat back, hands dropping from Hermione's head, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Blaise was just here, he just…don't you remember?" Hermione shook her head and Draco ran his hands through his hair. "This is so fucked up." He looked back down at the shocked witch; she was white as a sheet and it made him nervous. "Come on, let's at least get you off the ground." Draco moved to tuck an arm under Hermione's shoulder, having her to her feet as he stood using the desk to support them both. "There you go," Draco murmured as he set Hermione on her feet, easing her bottom to lean against the edge of the desk. He gently moved his shoulder out from underneath Hermione's arm and backed away from her, arms still outstretched like a sculptor taking away the supports for a statue. "You're okay now, right?"

The witch was staring glassy eyed into nothingness, but she was standing on her own. Suddenly, she reached her hand out as if to steady herself and Draco moved to grab her arm before she fell. He noticed the change in her breathing from ragged gasps to steady inhales immediately. "Okay," she said after a moment, closing her eyes and opening them slowly. "I'm okay." She started to pull away from Draco's grip and he released her. "Tell me what happened."

Draco repeated the incident to his boss, watching her close her eyes again as she tried to remember. "When I followed him out of the office, no one had seen him, it was like he wasn't even here." Draco stared pacing, reliving the moment himself and thinking hard. "And he did something to you, I don't know what, but something happened before he came here. He wanted you and you alone. He didn't even notice I was in the room until I pulled my gun on him." He pushed his hair back from his head, he felt lost, confused, and overwhelmed. The sight of Blaise had made him sick to his stomach and his adrenaline was starting to wear off. Then it hit him. "Plug your ears," he said roughly to Hermione before he vomited into the trashcan next to her desk.

The magic. All the power Blaise had brought with him into the room had seeped into Draco's body and was causing him to react badly to the large influx of magic. His sides heaved as his body emptied the contents of his stomach into the garbage. He was sweating and a pounding rang in his ears. Finally he wiped his mouth and stood up. "I'm sorry, it's the magic, he has too much magic," Draco panted, screwing up his eyes to try and bring the room into focus. He slammed a hand down on the desk, gripping it hard for support. It wasn't like the last time, where he had to go to the hospital, it wasn't as bad. It still felt like hell, though. Over the past several months he let his body grow accustomed to magic again in small quantities, but if a huge amount of power was shoved in his face all at once…

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he lifted his head. The spinning of the room slowed to a stop. "Granger?" he asked, voice hoarse.

"What?"

"Er…" Draco said, stupidly. It hadn't been a direct question. He had just been clarifying who it was that had put a hand on his shoulder. He blinked up at her again and frowned. "You're crying."

"I am?" Hermione quickly wiped her cheeks. "Oh, I am." As soon as she removed her hand away from his body, Draco began to feel nauseous again.

Suddenly, Draco found himself gathering the woman into his arms, hugging her tightly. He didn't care that he had wanted to stay as far away from her as he was allowed before Blaise had come into the office. He didn't care anymore, all of those thoughts went out the window as Draco only acted on what seemed right. "Just so you know," he said gruffly. "This is to make you feel better so don't punch me in the nose or anything again, okay." He didn't tell her that he felt better too.

A muffled laugh came from near Draco's chest. "Okay," came Hermione's quieted reply.

The witch and the wizard stayed like that for several long moments, holding onto each other for support, wanting to feel linked to anything they could. They both felt better, Draco's heart calming and vision clearing, Hermione still fighting the shadows in her mind, a task easier now with his touch. They were connected, just connected, to another human being in the whole of the universe. Enemies, professionals, whatever they were aside, they held on to the other as simply one man and one woman, searching for a bond, a life-line to hold on to in the roaring waters of their lives.

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><p><strong>HUGS! Everybody loves hugs! I also like reviews...<strong>

**:3**


	20. Chapter 19 New

**It took longer than I thought to write this chapter. Please, please let me know what you all think of their interaction in Hermione's office. It's only been a couple of days after the thing with Blaise, so they're both still pretty off their game ;)**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 19 – Saturday, December 3rd, 12:52 p.m.<p>

...

Sunlight bounced off of the gold surface of the Master Key Draco was turning slowly in his hand. He was sitting at his desk during his Saturday shift alone in Hermione's office, mulling over his thoughts. He had the rest of the afternoon to spend in solitude before Hermione was to meet him at the library that night to help with research. Draco leaned back in his desk chair and stretched, enjoying the lazy feeling of the weekend afternoon.

Ever since he stared wearing the Master Key on a chain around his neck, Draco could feel his body growing accustomed to the magic not only in the object, but in the air all around him as well. It brought a small smile to his face as he thought about how normal it all felt. The smile turned to a grimace as he shuddered remembering what had happened with Blaise two days ago.

Draco quickly shot a glance over to Hermione's office. Her door was open; he had unlocked it when he had clocked in for his shift, wanting the light from her office windows to stream in to surround his desk. It was a beautiful December day, no snow yet, and the crisp, blue sky seemed to promise to hold the weather off until later. But even the sunny day couldn't hold back the memories of how Blaise had acted.

"Way too much magic for one bloke," Draco muttered, jabbing the key in punctuation. "Even _I_ know that and I haven't felt magic in years." A few small purple sparks shot out of the Key, startling Draco into dropping it. It lay on his desk, no longer spitting sparks. Draco glared at it but the golden surface glittered back innocently. "So _now_ you decide to work?" he told the thing.

Over the past month, Draco had tried as hard as he could to get the Key to respond to him in some way, but all it did was shrink when he put the necklace on and grow when he took it off. Draco picked up the Key and waved it, trying to reproduce the purple sparks. He tried not to jealously think of Hermione being able to cast spells with her wand. "If she can do it," he grunted. "_I _can." Suddenly, white-hot sparks shot out from the tip of the Key. Draco let out a yell and jumped up, now holding it with both hands, trying to control the magic. "Stop, stop, stop!" he told it, trying to avoid the burning stings of the falling sparks. Finally, the shooting sparks spluttered to a halt.

Still holding onto the Key with two hands, Draco calmed his breathing and stood still, as if movement would trigger the sparks again. When they didn't reemerge, Draco relaxed his posture, holding the Key lightly in his right hand. "Okay, let's try some actual spells now, shall we?" It seemed to grow warm in his hand. "But only if you _behave_."

Draco pushed his mind back to Hogwarts, thinking of basic spells. "_Lumos,_" he said, waving the Key. He laughed out loud in excitement as the tip of the Key produced a warm glow of light. "I did it! Fuck yes!" He would have hopped up and down if it were in his nature. Instead he commanded the Key with "_nox_" to stop the light. It wasn't the same as a wand, but the exhilaration Draco felt was so intoxicating that it didn't bother him.

He spent the better part of the afternoon practicing little spells, reveling in the glory of being able to conduct magic again. He was grateful that the Ministry had created these Keys in the first place, and that any magic done with them was untraceable. Draco could see some flaws with a government owning such a powerful device, but as long as one of the Keys was in his possession, he wasn't complaining.

Around 4 o'clock, Draco wanted to try something bigger. Thinking back to the words he had needed to say to break the protection of the music box, Draco decided to try and cast a Patronus Charm. In school, he had never been able to cast more that a thin wisp of white magic when he practiced the spell, even though many of his classmates had mastered it easily. Knowing that Potter had developed the skill in only his third year had made Draco even more bitter. He knew the theory behind the charm, knew the words, memorized the wand positioning, but he could never cast a fully realized Patronus. He didn't even know what kind of animal it would be. When he had said the words to get the Key out of Hermione's music box, he had felt the magic within the Latin but that was all. That was all he ever felt.

Draco furrowed his brow and looked down at the Key. "I'm going to cast a Patronus Charm now," he said out loud, building himself up. He closed his eyes and sifted through his memories, searching for a moment when he was happiest. _He was young, barely past his toddler years, and he was crawling into bed with his mother and father. Lucius groaned, annoyed to be brought out of sleep in the early morning hour, but Narcissa chuckled, cuddling her son and teasing his father until the man rolled over and smothered the both of them in play._ Draco opened his eyes.

"_Expecto_ _Patronum_!" he cried, waving the Key in the correct motion in the air before him. White light spilled out from the Key, but it didn't take on a form. Draco dropped his arm, breaking the half-baked spell. "Fucking damn it," he swore. He tried again, this time with a different memory, one from Hogwarts, kids laughing in the Slytherin common room at a joke he had just told. Nothing happened. Frustrated, Draco tried again. This time it was breakfast, cooking eggs and toast next to his father and his mother sat at the table. This memory was from before the Ministry had arrested them, when they still thought they were going to be able to start over, when they were happy… Again, nothing. Draco quickly ran out of happy memories.

Finally, in his frustration, Draco threw the Key across the room, slamming it against the wall creating a dent in the plaster. "Bloody, fucking Key," Draco muttered as he went to retrieve it before fixing the wall with a simple repairing spell. He didn't understand. The memories he had tried to use were all happy, all powerful, and in theory they all should have worked. _So why didn't they?_ Draco didn't have an answer.

He slipped the Key back over his head as a necklace, watching it shrink down as it lay on his chest. Draco paced around the floor a while before he found himself in Hermione's empty office. Her windows faced full west and the winter sunset was already beginning. Draco checked the clock on the wall and was surprised to see that it was 5:15. He hadn't noticed how long he had been trying to produce a Patronus. The thought bringing back feelings of frustration, Draco turned away from the sight of the sunset and moved to the center of the room, stopping just before an oval-shaped burn mark on the rug.

The echoes of the past fight reverberated in his ears as he remembered his own voice calling for Blaise to let Hermione go. It disturbed him to think that no one had seen the chancellor as he fled Hermione's office, that no one had heard anything. Draco remembered Carl and Bev coming into the room once they had heard the Draco was looking for them and acting strangely.

"What's going on? Alderman…_Draco?_" Bev had spluttered when she had seen the two embracing. Hermione and Draco had broken apart, not quickly as if in guilt for being caught, but simply, without ceremony.

"Nothing, Bev, it's my fault, I was just being silly." Hermione's words had been directed to her Number Two, but her eyes were locked on Draco's.

Carl had moved closer to the pair. "Is that…is that a _bullet hole_ in the carpet?" The big man was looking down at the still smoking burn mark.

"Yeah, it is, sir," Draco had replied, his own gaze focused on Hermione's as well. The other two Numbers had stood in silence, staring at the Alderman and her Number Three. Hermione finally broke the quiet and had gotten them all back to business. Draco had retreated to his corner, not wanting to let Hermione out of his sight for the rest of the day, and most of the next. Today was the first day since the incident that he had been away from her for more than just the night.

_It's nothing special,_ Draco firmly told himself, still looking at the burn mark in the rug. _It's just that…I mean, I still hate her._ Draco didn't know what he was feeling. It was as if two people were at war within him, and he had no control over one of them. Something was warm in his hand. He had taken off the Key necklace without realizing and was now fiddling with it absentmindedly. His eyes suddenly filled with a vision of a room bathed in sunlight, of a blue couch, and of a laughing woman smiling and kissing the neck of a man, gently teasing him. Draco thought the man and the woman looked like his mother and father but he couldn't be sure, the woman's hair was too curly to be Narcissa's…Draco raised the Key.

"_Expecto Patronum,_" he said in a loud, clear voice. Light burst out from the tip of the Key, exploding in the room all around him, filling the corners of the room, leaving no shadows. Wind whistled past Draco's ears, ruffling his hair and making him squint his eyes. Then, he saw it. A small, speckled gyrfalcon emerged from the Key, wings beating furiously. It sailed around the room, studying the confines of the office before letting out a silent scream. The charm never produced noise, but Draco swore he could hear it all the same. He hesitantly held out his arm to give the falcon a place to land. The bird circled Draco twice before alighting upon his wrist. The falcon shook out its wings keeping Draco in sight of its piercing gaze. It opened its beak and let out another silent shriek, demonstrating its prowess. Once it had showed its strength, the falcon settled down on its perch and watched the wizard with glittering, intelligent eyes.

Draco let all his breath out at once. He had done it! He had finally cast a Patronus! Keeping his arm with the gyrfalcon on it steady, he slowly raised his other hand to delicately touch the Patronus. His knuckles lightly stroked feathers on the head of the falcon, or was he imagining it? He didn't really care. This bird was all his and if he wanted to believe that he could feel it, he would. He grinned as the falcon gently nipped at his fingers. "Mine," he said quietly.

"Is that a Patronus Charm?" a voice accused him from the door to the office. Draco whirled around, the spell breaking, the gyrfalcon disappearing. It was Hermione, wearing jeans and a simple dark green t-shirt. Draco's eyes shot to the clock on the wall again. _Shit, six o'clock._ "Was that a Patronus Charm?" she repeated, her voice growing angry.

Draco wasn't in the mood to fight, still elated from his success with the spell. "Yes it was," he said proudly, smiling down at Hermione.

"Wipe that grin off your face. Thousands go without magic daily for a _reason_, you idiot. You very well may have taken that magic from St. Mungo's or even an important MAG project. What were you thinking?" she crossed the room to put her bag down on her desk and turned angrily to Draco, waiting for an explanation.

Draco sighed, his good mood sinking into dread. "It's not a big deal, Granger. I didn't take magic from anyone."

"Oh?" she said, crossing her arms, voice bordering on hysterical. "Then where did it come from?" Draco hesitated. "Well?" Hermione persisted. "Tell me!"

Draco finally produced the key, showing it to Hermione and preparing for her to yell again.

"That's impossible," was all she said in a soft whisper. She looked up at Draco with a strange expression before frowning and holding out her hand. "That belongs to me, give it back."

The Key grew hot in Draco's hand. Something tugged at the back of his mind. "I think…it _wants_ me to have it," he said slowly, working something out.

"Nonsense, the Key belongs to me, it was issued to me by the Ministry." Hermione stretched out her hand, something in her eyes looking very scared and very anxious.

The Key started to vibrate. "Granger, listen. I really don't think it wants me to give it to you. I'm being serious, here."

"So am I," Hermione said, moving toward Draco. "That Key wasn't meant for you, it was under heavy protection."

"That I broke," Draco interjected. "I knew it was a little too easy a protection spell to break, I am meant to have this Key, to do something with it…" Draco trailed off; looking at the object while Hermione stopped moving, staring at him.

She could remember the exact day when she got the music box. It had been her birthday, one that she had told Timmy she didn't want to celebrate but he had gotten her a gift anyway…

.

"My great-aunt was a Seer before she died. Yes, a real one don't look at me like that, the Ministry collected her Prophecies for years keeping them in their little dusty balls, but Marla wrote them down too. She kept them all in a little book that she handed down to me in her will. I only just got it when I turned seventeen," Timmy had told her after he had produced his gift of the box.

"The legal age," Hermione had added, to which Timmy had given a nod.

"If you grow up as I did, you cling to certain things, me, I chose superstition. It just happened. I know you don't believe in the Third Sense, but I do, and I truly think that this Prophecy is about you."

Hermione had scoffed. "I am not 'brightly-burning' or whatever it says. Timmy, I read all the Ministry Prophecies and I'm very sure that I am not the object of any of them."

Timmy had shaken his head good-naturedly. "At least take the box as a place to hide the Key? After I went to the trouble of getting it made for you."

"Which you shouldn't have," Hermione said as gruffly as she was able.

"Which I shouldn't have, right," Timmy echoed. "But I did anyway. Here." He had handed her the box. "It's spelled so that only the one from the Prophecy can unlock the box to get to the secret compartment. Well, you can get to it too, of course, since it will be your music box."

"That's very complex magic, Timmy," Hermione had said, shocked. "How on earth did you afford it?"

"Oh, shut up and look at the damn box," Timmy had said with a laugh.

It was pretty enough, enough for Hermione to keep in on her desk in her apartment for five years, but she hadn't liked the overly cute golden otter or the gentle tinkling music. But even if she had hated it entirely, she wasn't going to tell Timmy that. "Thank you Timmy, really, I mean it. What's the lettering say?"

"It's the Prophecy. Hold it up to the light, you'll be able to read it better."

Hermione had peered into the lid. "So who is this protector of mine, hmm?" she asked, closing the box. "It better be you after all of this."

"Just take it, Hermione," Timmy said, one of the few times he had used her first name. "Please, for me?"

Hermione had laughed. "Fine, but just for you and only because I like you."

.

But it hadn't been Timmy. He had died protecting her but the Prophecy didn't expire. Those without a certain date stopped glowing once the Prophecy came true, but Hermione had gone down to the shelves herself to check. There it was; Marla's Prophecy that Timmy was so sure was about her. She had cried then, amid the stacks of glowing balls. "It wasn't you," she remembered crying to the shelf. "You died for me but it wasn't you!" She had hidden down there for some time before Carl had searched her out.

And now this _man_ was standing before her, with the _nerve_ to proclaim the Key as his own. She knew when he had taken it. Easy process of elimination; the only time he had been alone in her flat was that night when she had been sick, when she had laid her heart down on the line before him and he had pledged to help her. _And then the bastard went and stole from me,_ she thought, fury boiling deep in her belly._ From Timmy…_

Draco wasn't paying attention to the witch's change in emotion. Still staring at the Key, Draco thought back to the words painted in the top of the music box: _Expecting no protector, the brightest burning always have those to guard them as fiercely as the Night guards its Stars. -47.8/201_ Suddenly, it made sense: the protection spelled around the box, the numbers at the end of the inscription, how easy it was for him to find the Key... Draco let out his breath all at once. "Bloody fucking hell, this is a prophecy isn't it?" He turned to look at Hermione, his eyes wide. "You have got to be kidding. _I'm _your protector?"

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. Darting out a hand, she tried to snatch the Key away from Draco. He moved his arm out of the way just in time and, furious that she had missed; Hermione shoved him with both her hands on his chest. Caught off guard, Draco stumbled backward, his legs catching on one of the chairs in front of Hermione's desk forcing him to sit down on it hard. Draco quickly held his arm behind his back, clutching the Key in a fierce grip.

"Give it to me," she yelled, standing over him, a hand out.

"No," Draco said. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"Give it to me," she whispered in a deadly voice. She moved closer to the chair, threatening. "It was not meant for you." Draco clenched his jaw in stubbornness.

"See, I think it was," he said.

Hermione let out a frustrated cry and lunged at Draco, snaking her arm behind his back, snatching at the Key. "This Key was not meant for you!" The chair wobbled as Draco leaned back in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing?" He managed to right the chair before it fell over completely. Hermione continued to reach for the Key, one of her knees holding her weight on the chair pressing dangerously close in between Draco's legs. "Granger, stop it!" Draco dropped the Key behind his back, letting it slide down between the cushion and the back of the chair. He quickly wrapped both his arms around her torso, catching her arms in his grasp at the same time. It was fighting dirty, he knew what his direct touch on her skin would do, but she had left him with no other choice. He used a thigh to maneuver under her knee, unbalancing the witch with a sweep of his leg, forcing her body to be repositioned to sitting in his lap, her legs bent over one side of the chair.

As she began to stop moving, Draco relaxed his arms, sliding his hands to hold onto her elbows. Her skin was very soft, he realized. Hermione sighed and Draco looked up into her eyes. "I know what you're doing." Draco supposed she normally would have sounded threatening or angry, but her words came out soft and intimate, they made him slightly dizzy. "And I will not be taken advantage of like this." But even as she said it, she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling. Draco heard his heart beat quicken, thumping loudly in his ears. He noticed that she had a small dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He leaned forward, _to count them,_ he told himself and stopped when Hermione's eyelids fluttered open.

"New rule," she said.

Draco sighed, his mind coming out of its fog at these sobering words. More rules. "What is it this time?"

"We can't touch each other. Ever."

Draco frowned. "I thought you said you need to every so often? Not that I'm complaining," he quickly amended.

"No, not like this this," Hermione said, looking serious. "This feels right."

Something clenched Draco's stomach. "Strange, you mean. This feels strange."

Hermione looked annoyed. "That's what I said. Now let go of me."

"I have. Let go of me."

Hermione started. It was true; Draco was no longer holding her arms, instead, she had one of her own arms thrown over his shoulder with her other hand resting high on his chest, fingers gently tucked into the collar of his shirt. "I don't remember…" she trailed off, looking admonished. Finally, she let go, untangling herself from his lap and standing up. "I still hate you," Hermione said.

Draco gave a short laugh, getting up from the chair as well. "Good, I still hate you too." Looking at each other, the witch and wizard wondered what was happening to them. Hermione's brow crinkled when she realized something. Draco glanced down at the same time she did, feeling what she felt. Their hands were intertwined, her fingers threaded through the spaces in his own. Draco couldn't remember grasping her hand. She let go first, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere near her feet.

"So, should we go to the library now?" she mumbled.

Draco was glad she wasn't looking at him. "Yes, let's."

Hermione grabbed her bag off her desk and walked out of the office first, her head down in embarrassment. Draco retrieved the Key from the chair cushion and followed after her, feeling much the same and deeply confused.

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><p><strong>Review? What do you guys <strong>**think of Draco's patronus?**


	21. Chapter 20 New Edited

**Another Sherlock and Harry chapter! I hope you like it. Lots of action and mystery in here. :3**

**(Also: yes I posted this earlier today but there were so many mistakes because I was so excited I posted it without really proof-reading, that I took it down. So this is fixed and final. Enjoy!)**

**ANOTHER EDIT: The date has changed since i last updated from December 11th to December 4th, still a Sunday, just one week earlier in the time line of this story. I had to move it back for Draco's exam schedule coming up in the next chapter...sorry for the confusion.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 20 – Sunday, December 4th, 2:48 p.m.<p>

...

Harry Potter's brow was knit in a deep frown. He was crouched over the edge of a small crater-like pit in a forest just south of Hadrian's Wall. Reaching out, the wizard grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it between his fingers, letting the grit filter out to the ground. His frown deepened.

"What's different?"

Harry looked up at who had spoken. It was his odd companion, Sherlock Holmes. The two men had been traveling together for about a month, lurking in village back alleyways or sticking to the shadows along rural roads and woods, journeying in secret. Harry, for his part, was thrilled to be feeling the old sense of adventure he used to have when he was younger and Sherlock, well Harry didn't know what Sherlock was feeling, the man ever only seemed to get excited if they were talking deep magical theory, which, to Harry, was extremely dull. But looking up into the muggle's eyes, Harry saw what he always did: deep intelligence. "The earth here, it feels…different…odd."

Sherlock crouched next to Harry. "The same as in the other places?" Harry nodded and took out his wand. Casting a classification spell on the soil, the wizard waited for the magic to collect the information, Sherlock looked fascinated. As top Auror, Harry's wand was under Ministry jurisdiction like every wand was, but it was not regulated or watched by the government, nor did it have the restrictions of the Timed Magical Suppressant Law. For which he was very grateful right now.

The wand glowed blue. "Exactly the same. Topsoil is filled with Empty Magic." Sherlock nodded seriously at Harry's words. Empty Magic was the best describer both Harry and Sherlock had come up with since the start of their travels. It fit what they were studying perfectly. Once erupted, the Dark Pockets left behind tiny traces of space in its wake: literally Empty Magic. There was still magic left over in those spaces, but at the same time, it wasn't: non-present magic, like seeing someone without a soul.

"The depth and diameter of this hole is correctly proportional to a blast wave the size of 16th and 2 quarters Sect, which corresponds to the wave measured by your instruments on May 19th of last year." Sherlock rattled off the facts and math easily. Harry would have stared at the man in amazement had he not already been similarly impressed by Sherlock many times since the start of their journey. How Sherlock had picked up the magical measurement system and kept all those complicated dates and classifications in his head, Harry would never know.

The wizard stood up, brushing his hands together getting rid of the dirt. "Out of the half dozen or so craters we've seen-"

"Seven, to be precise," Sherlock interrupted.

"Seven," Harry amended. "I think it's safe to assume that we have established a correlation between them.

Sherlock stood up, looking down at Harry from his height. The man adjusted his scarf. "It is never _safe_ to assume, Potter. But you are correct. Relying upon our many calculations and the amount of craters we have discovered, I do believe that we may call this pattern _established_." Sherlock turned and walked off around the edge of the hole.

"That's what I meant," the wizard grumbled, following after the muggle who was now standing still and looking down at a spot near his feet. "What is it?" Harry asked, coming up along side the man. He followed Sherlock's gaze and when he saw what it was, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. "Stay there, stay right there! Don't move, don't touch anything!" Harry took off around the rim of the hole at a run. It was cold, the winter air snappy and harsh in the grey light of the December afternoon, but even wrapped in his warmest cloak Harry was sweating in fear.

Directly opposite of Sherlock, Harry stopped at a spot on the edge of the crater and looked down. He swallowed hard as he checked the dirt around his feet. "Does it look exactly like mine?" Sherlock called from across the hole. Harry's mind was too numb to be impressed with the man's mental leap.

"Yes. Don't move."

"It is a pressure sensitive magic spell?" Sherlock asked.

Harry looked up. "What? Oh no, nothing like that. Just hang on." Harry quickly waved his wand in a large arc around the air before casting a net spell across the entire crater. Sherlock shivered as he felt the magic settle around him. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it in his bones. He watched from across the pit as Harry swirled and danced with his wand, lips moving silently in complicated spellwork.

Finally, Sherlock felt a pressure lift from the air and Harry dropped his arm, looking exhausted. Sherlock noted his pallid color but was impressed when the man stayed upright. "For a minute there, it looked like you were about to," Sherlock called out, stopping when he saw Harry collapse in a faint. Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled wryly to himself. I'm never wrong, he thought, walking around the crater's edge to revive the fallen wizard.

Sherlock bent over Harry and wished he had some water to splash on the man's face. Instead, the dark haired detective knelt to the ground and shook the Harry by the shoulders. It took a few moments, but Harry was revived, groaning as he clutched his head when he awoke to full consciousness. "Complicated bit of magic?" Sherlock asked.

"Just a bit." Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock thought. "Sourcing spell?"

Harry shook his head. "Containment." The wizard propped himself up on his elbows before gingerly rolling himself over and hauling himself to his feet. Sherlock didn't help. "In the dirt, directly opposite the other on either side of the crater, there are runes, sigils that are forbidden. Someone carved them into the earth to create this Empty Magic…and it's open. I mean, the channel between the spell caster and the spell, still leaking, feeding a different source, like a river to the ocean."

"So you stopped it?"

Harry nodded. "So I stopped it." He was feeling better now that he was standing up. He put his wand away.

"Why haven't we seen these markings before at the other sites?" Sherlock asked.

"The spell is timed, on a set schedule. Sucking magic from the surrounding areas at certain time of day, certain days of the month. I didn't noticed it until I had to cast the net spell, which I never would have known to do if we hadn't seen the markings. It was just dumb luck that we were here today when they were noticeable and you looked down."

Sherlock shook his head, uncomfortable. "I don't believe in coincidences." He lapsed into silence for a moment before he looked around, tapping two fingers against his lips. "I can only assume that wherever the magic was being drained to, whomever is controlling it, he or she is not very happy right now."

"I thought you said never to assume?" Harry grinned at the man who ignored his gaze.

"I said it's never _safe_ to assume, Potter, but what we are dealing with right now isn't safe at all." Harry felt cold at the man's words. Sherlock turned abruptly and looked at Harry. "Shut up."

Harry looked taken aback. "I didn't say anything."

Sherlock frowned. "Your thoughts are interrupting me, so hush." Sherlock began to pace.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and let his mind wander, leaving the man to his peculiar musings. It hadn't taken Sherlock long to read the essential books on magic and magical theory, and even less time for him to grasp the concepts presented within the literature. The man had been particularly interested in the fact that some witches and wizards had the ability to See into the future. He had picked Harry's brain on the subject on their train ride up to Scotland. Harry remembered how the conversation had gone:

"Think of the implications," Sherlock had said, eyes alight with fascination. "Being able to see the next move, make accurate deductions of events not yet come to pass."

Harry had shaken his head. "It's not as accurate as you think, and you have to remember that not all of our society believes in these Prophecies as not many of them come true."

"Then why did you say it with a capital p?" Sherlock had asked smugly.

"How-"

"The way your lips moved when you said the word. Answer the question."

Harry had shrugged. "The Ministry collects all Prophecies made by Seers as best they can and store them within our vaults. They do have value, at least some of them do. The one about me certainly was very important, but…"

Sherlock had waited a half second before leaning on Harry to continue. "But what?"

Harry's gaze had been distant, remembering. "But there was another boy, a man…if things had been a little different…"

Sherlock had nodded. "Ah yes, Longbottom was the name, correct? I remember from your biography. Oh please, don't look so put-off. You know very well how famous you are and how people always want to write about the famous."

"Yes, his name is Neville Longbottom. He teaches at Hogwarts now…"

The memory of their conversation faded as Harry thought of the magical school that was his home for so many years. He was a little glad that Sherlock hadn't gone to Hogwarts. Studying with the man would have been a nightmare. Harry let slip a small smile as he thought about how much more competitive Hermione would have been if Sherlock had studied magic. The thought of Hermione sent Harry's mind back into worry and churning thoughts.

"Fine, what is it?" Sherlock said, exasperated, sensing Harry's mind was back grinding gears. Trying to control how impressed he was, Harry re-entered the dialogue.

"It's Hermione, Alderman Granger," Harry clarified.

"Yes, I know who she is." Sherlock impatiently waved the wizard on.

"Well," Harry said slowly. "She's very smart."

"Yes? And?"

"And how does one of the brightest witches our society has ever seen let something as big as this," Harry swept his arms out to the side. "Slip through her notice? How does the entire Ministry let this happen?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "The problem is, is that we still don't know the full scale of what 'this' is. Listen for a moment. Tell me if I'm right, which I probably am." Harry waited for the muggle to continue. "Just fill in the damn blanks for me on the magic front, alright?" Harry nodded. Sherlock stood still, closing his eyes for a moment and collecting his many, many thoughts.

"Eight years ago, your world fought a war, a deadly war, you call it the Darkness, the Second Wizarding War. The battle took place at a school, one of the more important locations around which your society pivots, and you challenged and defeated a wizard called Voldemort, yes?"

Harry hadn't heard that name in years. He nodded solemnly, an ache in his heart. Sherlock continued on.

"Then came the Reformation, a time of rebuilding your communities, a time of peace. But it's never that smooth in any society; peace is against our natures, we relish chaos and drama and struggle. But all was looking bright until the Shortage, which has something to do with Dark Pockets?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, yes, but what the Dark Pockets _are_ and what they _mean_ is a whole other matter."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I do believe we've figured that out already. River to the ocean, and all that?"

The famous wizard twisted his mouth in a humorless grin. "But where is this ocean?" Harry looked around pointedly. "We know these craters are connected, they are the same but where is the magic going? It leaves behind Empty Magic; literally molecules that are magical black holes and brings it…where?"

Sherlock was suddenly stopped cold. Cautiously, not wanting to reveal what he knew yet to the wizard, he spoke, testing a theory. "When did your Ministry discover this Shortage?"

"We've been over this before, Holmes, about seven years ago. We found out that these Pockets were remnants from Voldemort and his followers, put into place and triggered to explode in the event that their side failed. Like a booby trap, a last resort."

"And the fallout from these 'booby traps'?" Sherlock pressed. He noted the way Harry's body fidgeted, as if uncomfortable, although his voice remained the same steady monotone.

"Magical creatures turning normal, disappearing, changing their habits and habitats. Difficulties casting spells, wands going dead, injuries, splinchings, deaths, unprecedented amounts of deaths..." Harry trailed off, voice calm and even, his body language dejected and in anguish.

"Tell me what happened then."

Harry seemed agitated even though his voice remained calm. "Chaos, like you said, but we didn't thrive on it and we didn't want it, it was just there: riots, terrorist organizations, foreign skirmishes, pure panic. Until Chancellor Zabini and Hermione came along and sorted it all out, we were lost."

"And then came the Timed Magical Suppressant Law, and MAG and then the guns, the weapons."

Harry looked down at his own transi-force pistol, Ministry issued and forced upon him for his journey by Ginny who had refused to let him leave the transi-tech at home as he usually did. "Yes," he said. "And then peace."

"No," Sherlock interjected strongly. "Then there were Repercussions, there were more deaths, from the Shortage."

Harry shook his head. "No, they are taken care of."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. There it was. "By whom?" He watched as Harry's actions seemed to flip on themselves as he stood rigidly, his body straight as a soldier, but his voice full of fear and despair.

"The Ministry of Magic."

Sherlock drew a sharp breath. He relished in the feeling of being validated, of having his many deductions finally confirmed, but he didn't dwell on it, it happened to him far too often for him to be especially proud of this moment. He had known it was the Ministry for some time, or at least, someone in the Ministry. Sherlock just hadn't known how spread out this man's power was. And it had all just been confirmed by the actions of the wizard before him. If an important, famous, skilled and treasured man of the magical community was vunerable to the control of the Dark Pockets, then the amount of people not under the control of this magic was a quickly shrinking group. _I'm safe; I'm not magic_, Sherlock thought. _Which means that all other…muggles are safe too. But does that include_…he trailed off, lost in his own musings.

"Potter," Sherlock finally said, not sure how many minutes had passed. "Potter!" he snapped, seeing the wizard still in a daze. Harry shook himself.

"What?"

"This is important."

Harry nodded. "Of course, what is it?"

"No, I mean _this_," Sherlock jerked his head to indicate around him. "This whole situation. If the Dark Pockets originate from the one you call Voldemort, the most detrimental thing to ever happen to wizarding society, it must warrant a high level of governmental interest."

"Absolutely."

Sherlock started to become annoyed at how slow brains besides his own moved. "Then I believe that would mean at least one Prophecy has been made relating to these strange and troubling times. We need to get to the place where they are kept."

Harry looked shocked. "Back at the Ministry? But we haven't even finished visiting the Dark Pockets? Let alone discovering the unregistered ones."

Sherlock smoothed the front of his coat and squinted into the distance. "While your sense of adventure and dedication to our journey is commendable, your flaw in only wanting this to be the rest of your life would prove this mystery's undoing. These are clues, Potter; London is where the magic is going and where our culprit is. We have gathered what we can and now it is time for us to return to our crime scene."

Harry looked dismayed. "Go back? But I…we…" Sherlock's patience ran out. The taller man strode off in the direction of the town they had come from and left Harry mumbling his words. Reluctantly, the wizard followed. "Do you always do that?" Harry asked, catching up to the man. Suddenly, Sherlock turned and took Harry by both his shoulders and pushed, causing them both to fall to the ground next to each other, Sherlock on his stomach, Harry flat on his back.

"Down, Potter!" Sherlock yelled. Before Harry had time to ask what was happening, he heard it: a crackle snap of a transi-force discharge hitting a tree, its path clearly having been aimed for them. Immediately, Harry sprang into action and passed over his transi-force pistol.

"Take this, it works like a gun," he directed Sherlock who had a satisfied grin on his face from being handed the weapon. "Point and shoot." Harry took out his wand and griped it tightly, ready to fight. "On three, then?" But Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"Wait," the man hissed. "Wait until they get a little closer. Count the footsteps…NOW!" Sherlock rolled onto his back and lifted his head, holding the transi-force pistol out over his body with straight arms. He saw Harry scramble to stand before casting a spell that emitted a red light.

Their attackers were dressed in dark clothing, one had a baseball cap pulled low over his face causing Sherlock to note that all five of the approaching men were dressed like muggles. One of Sherlock's bullets clipped a man with a black windbreaker in the shoulder and sent him to the ground. Harry's red light caught another's transi-force gun and sent it flying, disarming the man. There were three left, and in the brief moment that it took for the attackers to glance over at their fallen comrade, Sherlock got to his feet and shot the man with the baseball cap in the thigh, causing him to stumble and fall.

Harry was busy battling one of the men that also carried a wand and Sherlock kept his eye on the last attacker, who had darted behind a tree. Harry cried out as a spell got the better of him, fire starting on his left arm. Sherlock ducked behind a tree of his own, watching as the wizard angrily cast a spell that caused magical ropes to tie around the body of the man with the wand. The assailant fell face down in the dirt, his wand dropping and crunching under his body. Harry quickly doused the fire on his arm with water from his wand and ran for cover behind a tree near Sherlock.

The two men looked at each other silently counting to three in their heads and then nodding. Sherlock darted out to the left while Harry flanked the right, both running as they approached the hiding spot of the last assassin. Sherlock pulled the trigger, shooting in empty air as he rounded the tree, hitting the roots: the man was gone. "Quick!" Sherlock yelled. "Check the others!" Harry turned to run back to the man he had bound, but he was gone.

"They're all gone," Harry announced, shocked. He spun around again. "Sherlock?" he said to the empty air. A loud crack echoed through the forest followed by a cry of pain. Another transi-force pistol shot rang out followed by a thump. Harry followed the first noise and rushed to the undergrowth. A discharged transi-force weapon lay among the leaves, but no owner. "Shit," Harry swore. The gun was from the man Harry had disarmed. Harry turned and sprinted to where the second gunshot had come from, fearing the worst.

"I'm okay, just a graze along my ribs," came Sherlock's voice. He was sitting with his back propped up against a small oak, clutching his side. "Is the last one gone?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "You knew the one I had disarmed hadn't left, didn't you?" Sherlock nodded, looking self-satisfied even while injured. The whole event had shaken Harry a bit into reality. "I think it _is_ time to go back to London, after all." Harry stooped down and tugged one of Sherlock's arms over his shoulders, helping the taller man stand.

"Good choice," Sherlock said, his voice cracking a little in pain. "I know an excellent doctor back in the city."

"I don't think your wound will wait that long. We'll have to get you patched up here before we go back." Harry held onto Sherlock's wrist to keep his arm from slipping.

Sherlock grunted as they began to walk. "You may be right there, Potter. But let's try to get this taken care of as soon as possible. I really like this coat and I would rather not bleed on it." Together, the two men started to make their way back toward the town. Harry kept his wand out. "They were dressed like muggles," Sherlock said after a while.

Harry was surprised to hear Sherlock say the word. "What?"

"I've seen what you people wear and those men were dressed differently, trying to blend into their surroundings. Each of them are probably stationed in towns near Dark Pockets, ready to attack anyone snooping around them."

"But not Ministry officials?"

"Obviously, otherwise this secret would have been found out ages ago. No, they lie in wait for those who are not authorized by the Ministry to come sniffing about and then they strike. Loners, all living in separate villages across England and Scotland."

Harry frowned. "Loners? There were five of them."

"Clearly," Sherlock sucked in a breath as he took a hard step, jostling his gunshot. "They were all transported here when the alarm was triggered. What do you call it? Oh yes, apparating."

"You can't apparate anymore, it's impossible, there isn't enough magic." Harry said firmly.

Sherlock sighed lightly. "Well apparently you can."

Harry was silent for a moment before he spoke up again. "What alarm did we trigger? We've been around many other Dark-oh, my spell."

"Spot on," Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

As they picked their way through the forest in the darkening light of the winter afternoon, Harry's heart sank the more he thought about everything that had just happened. "I honestly thought I missed this," he said to the muggle. "But it's different now, it's like…"

"You have a family now," Sherlock finished. "The stakes are higher than just friends and a grand 'save the word' mission. It's more personal."

"Funny," Harry said darkly. "I thought the last time was personal."

Sherlock would have given a short chuckle if he had had the strength. "Oh this whole thing, this little _game_, isn't about you, it isn't personally aimed at you. You're just personally invested in it. Two very different things."

Harry let Sherlock's words sink in as they crunched their way through the brush closer to town. He could see the road approaching them not five yards off. "Well, then who is it about this time?"

"That, Doctor Watson, is the true mystery," Sherlock mumbled before his head rolled forward in a blood loss and shock faint.

"Damn it," Harry said, hoisting Sherlock's arm to a better position over his shoulders. "I'm too old for this." His almost-grin turned to gritted teeth as he half dragged, half carried Sherlock to the town's muggle doctor for stitches before they could rent a car to drive back to London.

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><p><strong>Review? :)<strong>


	22. Chapter 21 New

**Okay wow it's been too long...I'M SORRY ;_; PLEASE FORGIVE ME**

**And I know this chapter is short but I promise you (honestly I do this time!) more is coming.**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me**

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><p>Chapter 21 – Monday, December 5th, 6:05 a.m.<p>

...

Draco watched the numbers on the clock by his bed slowly count down to the alarm he had set to ring at a quarter past six in the morning. The blonde was sitting on his mattress on top of the sheets, fully clothed and very drunk. After spending half the night researching with Hermione in the library that past Saturday, Draco had spent his Sunday feeling cold in his tiny apartment that had suddenly felt very large to him. That's when he had cracked open a fresh bottle of whiskey.

Drinking had never been a problem for Draco, at least he had never thought of it as a problem or just didn't want to. It wasn't a issue; he drank when he felt like it, and stopped when he needed to: simple. The only thing was, when he did drink, it was always to excess. So it wasn't _too_ bad of a problem, was it? Draco didn't know. He glanced over as the numbers on the clock face changed: 6:09 a.m.

He hadn't be able to sleep at all last night, too worried about what was happening at the Ministry, too wired from his late-night library research, and too nervous about his first exam. Draco cringed as he thought of the measly two hours that stood between him and his MDPA Tactics and Analysis final. He shifted on his bed and the handle of whiskey rolled toward him.

Draco picked it up and looked at the bottle fondly. It was a true Scottish single malt and he had picked it up at the muggle liquor store for only £39.98: a bargain. The only bad thing about the liquid inside the greenish bottle was that it was almost gone. Ignoring the early hour, Draco took one of his last remaining sips of the whiskey. It tasted how he thought summer would taste: long and hot and full of earthy rot. Draco wiped his lips, now tingling with the after-burn of the alcohol. 6:12. Draco sighed.

He hadn't planned on getting drunk, yesterday, it had just happened. Sitting in his flat alone after all that had happened to him and between him and Hermione that past week…Draco still felt overwhelmed by it all. He had tried to wrap his head around all the questions circulation around in his mind, but he couldn't. So it had been the whiskey that had dulled the buzz in his brain, but he hadn't stopped there. Draco ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to work through the fog in his memory. Frowning, Draco decided that he may have vomited some time around 2:30 a.m., but he wasn't sure. He dismissively shrugged off the worry as he consumed the rest of the whiskey as his alarm beeped to life.

Stopping the noise of the clock with the bottom of the bottle, Draco let the glass slip out of his hand and roll onto his bedside table. He held himself in a cringe, waiting for the crash that was to come, but the bottle just spun on its side in a lazy circle. Draco relaxed his shoulders and made to stand up off his bed with the end goal of making it to his shower, but as soon as his feet hit solid ground, the rest of the room began to sway. "Fuck," he muttered, steadying himself with an arm on a wall. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to be sick.

Eventually, he made it to the bathroom, clinging to the walls for support, his mind only on getting into the shower. Draco hoped that if he could get some water going over his body that he would sober up enough to go to work. But as he but he was still too drunk to really even care if he were to show up to work sober or not, he began to undress himself very slowly. But as he began to unlace his shoes, the room lurched in his eyesight and he stumbled, falling into the shower. Half-heartedly reaching up to the spigot, Draco gave up turning on the shower when his stomach heaved, making him drop his reaching arm and forcing him to quickly turn his head to vomit into the drain. "Fuck," he muttered once again, his curse turning into a drunken chuckle at the end. "Today is going to suck." He wiped his mouth as he began to laugh in earnest.

...

Hermione woke up feeling lost. Something kept niggling at the back of her head as she got ready for her day at work. Saturday had been…_interesting to say the least_, she told herself with a wry smirk. Getting dressed Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, studying her worn appearance. She was tired and she looked it. Running a hand through her curls, Hermione appreciating that her hair at least looked decent. Letting her hand fall to her side, her gaze lingered on her fingers. She remembered holding…_his_…hand and she could feel herself blush but with pleasure, not embarrassment.

Someone knocked at her door and she shook herself out of her reverie. "Bev?" Hermione called out, walking out of her bedroom and leaving her mirror, and the memory of touching Draco Malfoy's hand, behind her.

"Let me in, I've got coffee." The voice of her Number Two sounded muffled. Hermione opened the door to see Bev holding a bag of what smelled like muffins in her teeth. "Take the cups for a second, ma'am," Bev mumbled, the muffin bag moving with her words.

Hermione smiled at the sight and obliged, letting Bev enter her apartment as she did so. Hermione took a sip of her coffee as Bev closed the door and set the muffins down before grabbing her own cup. "Ready?" the Welsh woman asked.

"As I'll ever be," Hermione said distractedly, peering into the muffin bag. "Oh good, blueberry."

Bev smiled at her boss. "Okay, this morning you have a couple of meetings. Now, I know we discussed this yesterday, but let's give them a run-through one more time. You're meeting with the South African Ambassador this afternoon and I know how nervous she makes you so let's make sure you know the meeting schedule backwards." As Bev rattled on about Hermione's day, the curly-haired witch let her mind wander, picking at the muffin and making sure she had everything she needed for the office packed in her briefcase.

"So that will conclude around 2:30, giving you time for a late lunch with the head of the Wizengamot. Not ideal, I know, but it's in good form to wine and dine him every once in a while. You know how touchy he is."

"Bev?" Hermione interrupted.

Her Number Two had been about to keep talking but she quickly closed her mouth. "Yes, ma'am?"

Hermione toyed with a muffin crumb. "It's exam week for the MDPA students, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." Bev stared at her boss, uncertain of how to proceed.

Hermione just nodded her head. "Thought so. Please, continue." Bev rattled off the rest of the day's schedule quickly, feeling off-put by Hermione's strange comments. But once they were out of the apartment and in the car with Wes, Hermione seemed to be back to her normal, authoritative self and Bev relaxed a bit. Besides, Wes was flirting with her in the front seat, hardly leaving time to look in the rear-view mirror to check up on her boss in the back of the car.

...

Draco was feeling slightly ill. He had made it without problem to the Ministry where the exams were to be held in the extra rooms. The Ministry didn't want to encourage any form of cheating, so the finals never took place in the classrooms over in the MDPA building, where the students had done all their learning. The long walk in the cold air to the Ministry had sobered him up a bit, but he had just found two nips of vodka in his locker and had swallowed them both without hesitation. Now, he was waiting outside his exam room alongside his classmates waiting to take the exam, unlike his fellow students, Draco was swaying slightly. The lack of sleep and food mixed with alcohol did nothing to calm the nerves he felt waiting outside the classroom. This test was the first of the four he had today that would determine if he could remain in his position as Hermione's Number Three and not get kicked out into the muggle world again. Thinking of losing touch with the magical world again, Draco thought he was going to be sick.

"Tactics and Analysis final," a busty, older witch had emerged from the classroom, nodding at the queue of students telling them it was all right to enter now. "Go right ahead then, dears." When Draco passed her, she stiffened at the stench of liquor upon his breath and nodded to him once. "Good luck, love. You'll need it." Draco wanted to sneer at the woman, but he thought that if he tried to open his mouth at all, he would just vomit.

The test proved normal, in time and toughness, but to Draco it seemed to take forever until he reached the end, all the while with the questions taunting his intelligence. When it was finally over, Draco practically launched himself out of the room toward the bathrooms when he bumped into Hermione. "Malfoy! Damn it!" the witch cried out in surprise and mild pain. "You hit my head!"

Draco spun around; there was no one in the hallway, he had been the last student to leave the testing room, and he was relieved to see they were alone, without witnesses to this embarrassment. "I'm sorry," he said, turning back to face Hermione. "I'm sorry, I was-"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up when she caught the alcohol smell. "Malfoy, are you _drunk_?" she reduced the sound of her voice to a whisper.

"No, well yeah, but, so what?" Draco tried to cross his arms but instead he had to steady himself on the wall. Hermione grabbed his arm and tugged him into an empty classroom across the hall from the one Draco had just vacated. "Ow!" he said to her pulling his arm, not really feeling pain.

Hermione pushed him to sit in a chair. The room's lights were off but the morning light shone through the windows. As soon as the pressurized door closed with a snap behind them, Hermione started in on him. "What are you _thinking_? Being drunk at a time like this? You need to actually _pass_ your exams, you know."

Draco gave a light chuckle, wiping his mouth. "Really? I didn't know that, thanks."

"I don't know what to say." Hermione was exasperated. "First you agree to work with me and do your best and then you go a pull a stunt like this. What is it with you?"

Draco frowned, both from her words and at the roiling feeling in his stomach. "Listen, I didn't _plan_ this, okay? I was just…"

"Just what? Come on, hit me with any excuse you have." Hermione crossed her arms and waited.

"Fucking nervous, alright? If I fail this exam, any of these exams, I'm gone. Back to the muggle world, back to hell." He looked up into her eyes defiantly, daring her to laugh at him. But Hermione's face softened. In the natural light of the classroom, her eyes looked almost amber. Draco swallowed hard and looked away, re-collecting his thoughts. "I got a little drunk but I'm okay now. I'm sorry."

Hermione moved toward him and sat down in the chair next to his. "You're an idiot."

Draco shot her a miffed look. "Thanks."

"Seriously. First of all, you're not stupid. You're an idiot, but you're smart. You would never flunk your exams, sober or not. Although perhaps you would have gotten a bit better marks if you had been sober, but that's a moot point now. And you're even more of an idiot if you think for one second that even if you did somehow fail every test that I would let them put you back in exile, well, I've said it before: you're an idiot." Hermione was shaking her head lightly at him, like a teacher with a student.

Draco was sure his eyebrows must be in his hair. "I…well…then…then maybe…" he stumbled over his words. Hermione interrupted his progress with an eye roll.

"Come on, we'll go up to my office and get you pulled together enough in time for your next exam. When is it?"

Draco watched the witch as she stood up and waited for him to do the same. He hastily got to his feet. "45 minutes. What's in your office?" he asked, following her out of the room.

"Blueberry muffins."

...

Somehow, Draco made it through the day in once piece, he was even sober for the last two of his finals, pounding headache notwithstanding. At 8:30 that night, he handed in his last workbook with relative ease, no trace of nerves left in his body. Taking the longest, hottest shower of his life back at his apartment that night, Draco couldn't get the thought of brown curls and blueberry muffins out of his mind. _She had no business downstairs this morning,_ Draco thought. _She was coming to check on me._ The idea stunned him into stillness for a while, the hot water continuing to run over his body. Then, he found himself smiling. _She came to check on me._

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><p><strong>Even though I don't deserve it since I've been gone so long...review?<strong>


	23. Chapter 22 New

**Yes! Another new chapter for all my awesome readers! And here's a hint: KISSING! YESSSSSSSSS**

**JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, not me.**

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><p>Chapter 22 – Friday, December 9th, 9:52 p.m.<p>

...

Hermione had been in the Ministry library all day and was exhausted. Stretching her neck she stood up from her research table and started to put away her books and papers. "Not like at Hogwarts when I had all the energy in the world," she muttered to herself as she gathered up her belongings. Leaving the library, Hermione was met outside the large double doors at the entrance by her Number One and Three. She cast a casual glance at Draco to see if he was all right. With all his exams, Hermione hadn't seen much of her Number Two since they had spoken that Monday and was worried about his stress level. Apparently he had passed all of his physical exams on Wednesday and Thursday of that week, as the results were available immediately, but the written tests were still out for grading. To Hermione, he seemed to be handling the stress of waiting well.

Carl and Draco fell into step slightly behind her when she exited the huge room. "Find what you were looking for, ma'am?" Carl asked quietly as they took the stairs down to the garage hanger. Draco shot her a look out of the corner of his eye, hopeful. If she had noticed, she didn't let on. Even Carl couldn't know what they were up to.

"No, not yet. But I did get to read some riveting literature on goblin spells."

Carl gave an understanding laugh, falling for her lie. "My condolences, ma'am." Draco could have sworn Hermione had just sent him a quick smile. Their secret was still safe.

Wes greeted the small party in the garage, opening the door for Hermione before sliding into the front seat. Carl nodded to Draco. "You'll be with her tonight. Bev went home early, tired as she is showing new recruits her kickboxing technique. Alderman let her go early." Draco nodded and Carl continued. "I have to stay late, but I trust you to take care of everything, understand?" Draco nodded again. "Good," Carl finished with another curt nod. "Goodnight, then."

Draco watched him leave the garage hanger with a small smile. If Draco didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Carl was…_well, not warming up, but he's definitely recognizing my skill level finally._ Draco felt the warm glow of pride swell in in stomach. He walked around the car to get in on the side opposite of Hermione. With a last look at Carl's retreating back, Draco got in the car feeling very pleased.

"Ugh, how can you look so peppy after the week you've had? If I were you, I'd be feeling like crap right now." Hermione groaned lightly seeing Draco's happy expression.

Draco just shrugged. "Carl is starting to trust me. It just feels kind of satisfying, you know, to have my work validated?"

Hermione leaned her head back onto the car headrest and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm. "We're all starting to trust you, Malfoy. You're not a _bad_ person. You just got that in your head because you weren't raised right."

Draco bristled. "What is that supposed to mean?" The thought of Hermione insulting his parents filled him with cold anger. Hermione could hear his tone and peeked one eye out from underneath her arm.

"Oh, not like that." She moved her arm back. "Like any of us were really raised by our parents, please. It was Hogwarts that did that job. That's what I meant."

Draco's posture relaxed, but he no longer felt the distinct glow from Carl's earlier newfound trust in him. "Whatever," he murmured, settling back to stare out the window until they arrived at Hermione's apartment.

Wes brought the car to a gentle and practiced stop some twenty minutes later, rousing both Draco and Hermione from their silent thoughts. Hermione leaned over and peered up at her apartment building, hesitating a moment. Her neck throbbed again from her library work and she rubbed it, thinking. "Want to get a drink?" She asked, surprising the blonde man across from her. He stared. Hermione frowned. "What? Don't look at me like that. I want a drink, do you know any good muggle bars?"

Draco was shocked. Never in his life, or in the short time he had come to know her, would he ever suspect Hermione of wanting to go get a drink at a bar. "You want to go to a pub? You?"

Hermione's expression became miffed. She crossed her arms. "I enjoy the occasional libation after work, what of it?" The tall blonde tried to stifle a laugh by clenching his lips together. It didn't work. "What?" Hermione asked, now exasperated. "Why are you laughing?" Draco calmed to a chuckle before answering.

"Granger, we all know how smart you are, you figure it out. The mere fact that you said 'occasional libation' is enough of a clue." Draco let out another chuckle. He hadn't laughed that hard in…he didn't know how long.

Hermione continued to look annoyed before allowing a slight smile. "Okay, I see what you mean." She gave her subordinate an odd look. "So are you going to take me or not?"

Draco squinted out the window into the dark night, thinking. "I know one that's close to your flat. You've probably walked past it a bunch." He glanced over at the woman. "You sure want to go?"

Hermione hesitated for only a moment longer. "Yeah, yes. Why not?" Draco stared at her for a beat before raising his hand to knock on the divider. Hermione stopped him. "No, don't…he doesn't need to know." Draco looked at his boss again who was blushing and avoiding his eyes. Tactful she was not.

"Fine." Draco got out of the car and walked around to open Hermione's door as if this night would continue like any other normal drop-off. Once Hermione and her belongings were out of the car, Draco rapped his knuckles briefly on Wes' window and gave a short wave. The American wizard nodded, smiled at Hermione, and drove away. The SUV disappeared into the city and Draco and Hermione were alone. "Come on, then," Draco said, turning to lead the way. They walked together in silence until they arrived at the pub.

"The Horse and Groom?" Hermione asked, suddenly shy.

Draco was grinning; a subconscious reaction to the noise and warmth of the pub entrance. "Yeah, have you been? Looks great," he said absentmindedly as he opened the door for Hermione. She entered the noisy pub and looked around at Draco who was clearly in his comfort zone. Once Hermione was inside, Draco followed and continued directly toward the bar, leaving Hermione to trail after him, which she did after hesitating a moment. He had looked so…_normal_ for a second. She felt her mouth twitch in a slight smile. The pub was lively and inviting, but Hermione still felt slightly uncomfortable inside. She had never been in a muggle bar and had only frequented wizarding pubs a handful of times over the past eight years. She was out of her element and it showed. Awkwardly hovering behind Draco as he pushed his way to the front of the bar, she kept knocking into his back. After the fifth time, Draco turned, frowning. "Granger, just go find us a table, okay?"

Hermione nodded, trying not to blush. She turned to scan the packed room and eventually found a small two-seater over by a remote corner. Settling in, she moved her purse to her lap and clutched at it, unsure of what to do next. When she saw Draco making his way across the room with two drinks, she suddenly panicked, realizing her choice of table could be construed as intimate. Feeling flustered, she looked around quickly for a change in venue, but there were no other empty spots.

"Got a twitch, Granger?" Draco smirked as he sat down next to her, handing her a glass.

"Don't talk to me in that tone, I'm your superior." She glared at Draco whose smirk only widened to a cheeky grin. "Actually, I'm off-duty right now so I," he raised his glass at her. "Can say whatever I want to you." He took a sip, still looking at her to see how she reacted.

Hermione held his gaze. "You're not off-duty until I'm in my apartment."

Draco nodded, conceding at least that. "True, but you chose not to go back to your place, making me have to stay with you in the case that anything should happen. I should have made you go back to your flat and I should be off-duty right now but I'm not, I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart so, again, I will say what I want." He took another sip.

"Well I…" Hermione started, then stopped. "I mean…you should…" Hermione trailed off awkwardly, letting her eyes slide away from him.

Draco chuckled. "Thought so. It's tedious censoring myself all the time anyway. Give me a break just this once."

Hermione tried to get her footing back in the conversation. "Well, if you're supposed to be protecting me from a potential emergency, should you be drinking?"

Draco held her gaze with a measured look. "Are you going to tell anyone?" When Hermione didn't answer, he sighed. "In any case, the threat to you tonight is extremely low, try almost impossible. Here, no one knows who you are, we weren't followed, and we changed our plans at the last second, which would throw anyone who was on our trail, off it." He drained his glass and returned to the bar for a refill. When he returned, they sipped in silence for a while before Hermione broke it.

"This is pretty good. What is it called?"

Draco grinned. "Whiskey."

"Oh. Is there anything else in it?"

"Ice."

Hermione sipped at her drink again. She didn't really like it at all, the liquor very biting "Is this…a girl drink?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"No." Draco wondered where this was going. It was amusing to see Hermione Granger trying to talk to him about her drink when she clearly wasn't enjoying it.

"Why did you get me a guy drink?"

Draco smirked. "To see if you could handle it." Hermione's eyes jerked up to meet his and she saw a challenge in the grey eyes before her. Setting her jaw, she resolved to meet his challenge.

"Well, it's really good, and I like it a lot," she said stiffly before downing the rest of the drink. Draco's eyebrows rose: he was impressed. Hermione didn't smile, but on the inside she knew she had just scored a point.

Then Draco flashed a smile that made Hermione try to fiercely ignore the flop it caused in her heart. "Great, let's get another round." She tried not to look too crestfallen at these words and watched him make his way back over to the bar with a sinking feeling.

"Perfect," she mumbled to herself. "I now have to out-drink Draco _Malfoy_." In a silly panic, Hermione wildly thought _I'm going to die before I'm 30…and all those places I wanted to see…_before smiling at the private joke. _I probably shouldn't have downed that last drink..._

...

Four whiskey drinks for Hermione and at least seven (Hermione lost count) for Draco later, the odd pair had moved closer together on the little two-seater in the corner of the pub. They weren't touching, but almost.

"Actually," Hermione was trying to enunciate around the alcohol in her brain. "I find it fascinating that we've gone through ablso-absolute _hell_ as a community and still no one wants to live in equality when it comes to non-human magical beings."

Draco shooed this statement away with a loose hand. "Shh…Granger. No work stuff, please. I get enough of it all day." He felt drunker than he knew he probably was, and sitting this close to Hermione made him feel dizzy with a feeling he couldn't put a name to, but it felt good. And of all the people to go to a bar with, he was actually enjoying himself.

She was giggling at the moment, brining him out of his thoughts. "Okay, okay, okay," her words blurred together. "What do you want to talk about instead?"

Draco thought for a moment, pretending to seriously ponder her question as she drank deeply from her glass. "How much more work do you think you have to do on my trial?"

Hermione downed the rest of her drink before slamming it down on the table, laughing and pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Ah! No, that has to do with work!"

Draco held his hands up, smiling back at her. "You're right, you're right!" The two chuckled for a moment, enjoying the joke and the foggy feeling in their heads. Hermione thought of how silly she probably looked grinning at her former enemy, but she didn't mind as much as she supposed she would have without all the whiskey.

"We're not enemy's anymore, are we?" she blurted out after a moment.

Draco looked taken aback. "I don't know, are we?"

Hermione shook her head, curls bouncing. "Nope, I don't think so, do you? I mean, I'm helping you research and you're working for me."

"Yeah, yeah," Draco nodded, agreeing vigorously. "You're right, we're getting along very well."

"Especially since we have to be around each other, you know, _magic-wise_." Hermione lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Draco's stomach lurched.

"I don't think we should talk about that." Draco glanced around but Hermione waved his concern away.

"Oh hush, it's loud enough in here and no one is paying attention to us, we're fine."

Draco gave her a look. "We're fine?"

Hermione nodded, smiling broadly. "Yeah, we're fine. Trust me."

"I do," Draco found himself saying. "I trust you completely. I don't know why but I can feel it."

"We've been over this, Malfoy. It has to do with the prophecy." She looked away, her expression sad for a moment. "Whether I like it or not."

Draco set his own glass down on the table. "No, I mean we don't know about the why behind the prophecy. Why it is I feel this way in…right here." He gestured to his chest and Hermione's gaze locked onto his.

"Feel what?"

Draco suddenly felt exposed. "Nothing. I'm just saying. It's just like a mystery I want solved."

Hermione nodded, understanding. "Believe it, I want that too."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I just wish you could do more."

"What do you mean, 'do more'?" Hermione stared to frown up at him but before Draco could explain himself, he was interrupted as the pub's patrons shuffled around the room to accommodate more people entering. Their private corner was being invaded by more patrons, one of them forcing Draco to move in his seat closer to Hermione. "Damn fools," Draco muttered darkly. "Way too many people in here right now." He felt a tug on his arm and turned to see Hermione hanging onto him after being pushed by someone behind her.

"Oh! Sorry," she slurred, noticing where her hand was. "Rules." She removed it rather slowly, Draco thought. The spot on his arm where her hand had been was now colder than the rest of him.

"No, it's okay," he added, way after the fact.

Hermione looked up at him, brown eyes slightly glazed by the whiskey. "What's okay?" she asked. Draco couldn't answer. He was mesmerized. _It's the fire, just the firelight reflecting in her eyes_, he told himself. Their faces were very close; he could see the handful of faded freckles across the bridge of her nose. "Malfoy?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled, unable to say anything else.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

He wanted to jerk away, to put some distance between them, somewhere in his alcohol buzzed brain, part of it knew moving away would be the professional thing to do, but instead he nodded. "Yes," his voice came out raspy and deep. She sighed lightly and her whiskey-stained breath washed over his lips. _Why not?_ Draco thought as he brought his mouth to hers.

Hermione was surprised. Draco's lips weren't hard or nasty like the insults that had come out of them at Hogwarts. They were soft, warm and tasted slightly of the alcohol she had been drinking. She kissed back, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation. She felt his tongue dart out in question, lightly asking her own lips to part. Hermione gladly opened her mouth in answer, happy to deepen the kiss that she was enjoying.

A bolt of lightning suddenly shot down her spine and curled, tingling, deep in her belly. She broke the kiss immediately, her eyes opening in shock to stare at Draco's own wide grey gaze. She brought her hand to her mouth, pressing her lips as if to check if they were still there.

Draco watched her, trying to look indifferent but he knew he looked as stunned as she. He had felt something when their kiss deepened, something profoundly shocking that he wasn't entirely sure if it wasn't dangerous. Half of his mind told him to run, to leave the situation immediately, and the other half told him to grab the woman in front of him and…_Hermione bloody Granger!_ He screamed inwardly, interrupting himself from hazardous thoughts. _What the hell?_

"What the bloody hell is going on?" a voice asked from in front of their table. They both turned to see a very angry looking redheaded man standing before them.

"Ron!" Hermione breathed, shocked. "What are you _doing_ here?"

The wizard sneered. "I could ask you the same thing." He paused and looked at Malfoy before turning back to Hermione with a strange look on his face. "Really? _Him_?"

Hermione looked at Malfoy who was looking warily at Ron, his jaw clenched. "This isn't…it's not…" she couldn't think of what to say.

"This isn't what I think? It's not what, Hermione? Disgusting? Disappointing? Dis-disavowing?" he stumbled over the last word and it was then that Hermione realized he had been drinking.

"You're drunk," she accused.

Ron scoffed. "So are you, by the looks of it, slutting it up like that. What the fuck were you thinking? You profound _idiot_." A violent scraping noise came from Draco pushing back from the table and standing up looking, Hermione thought, _very_ angry.

"Listen, Weasley, just cool it. You don't need to get involved here." Draco shook his head a bit to clear it from the fog of alcohol. The adrenaline he was now feeling was also helping him sober a bit. He didn't like the look in Ron's eye.

The redhead looked at Draco as if he were the lowest of the low. "Don't you even…you have no right to talk to me, you traitor fuck."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed.

Draco took a step around the table and came closer to Ron. "Trust me when I say, this is where you're going to want to walk away now."

Ron's face wrinkled in a nasty expression. "Fuck off, you prick. This is none of your business. I'll handle this _whore._" Draco wound up and punched Ron in the jaw. Ron staggered backwards and fell into a nearby table, crushing the glasses that were on it and knocking into a muggle.

"Don't you ever, _ever_, speak to her like that again!" Draco shouted, the noise in the bar quieting with the music continuing in the background. "Do you understand? Don't you ever!" Draco turned his head as he felt a tugging on his sleeve. It was Hermione.

"Come on, let's go, the muggle owner is coming out." Draco started to leave, but Hermione tugged on his arm again. "We can't just leave him here!" she pleaded.

"Oh believe me, I can." Draco growled, casting a dirty look at Ron on the ground who was out cold.

"But _I _can't. Please just help me and we can go."

Draco finally nodded and helped Hermione shift Ron's deadweight to be supported between the two of them and dragged him out of the pub. "Fuck, he weighs a ton," Draco grunted as they made their way out of the bar as quick as they could. Hermione shushed him. Ron was revived by the cold air of the night and Draco shrugged Ron's arm off from around his shoulders.

"What the…?" Ron mumbled as he stood with the wall of a nearby alley for support. "What happened?" He looked around and saw Draco standing a little ways off, talking quickly into a mirror. "_Him,_" he snarled. "Fucking _Malfoy._ I'm going to kick his fucking _ass._" He made a move to start at Draco, but Hermione pushed him back to lean against the brick wall behind him with her hands on his shoulders.

"Stop it, Ron. You're acting like a child right now."

"I'm acting? Hermione, you were _kissing _him." Ron's face was one of abject pain. Hermione couldn't look him in the eye; she let her gaze fall somewhere around his chin.

"That is none of your concern," she said quietly, dangerously. "You endangered all of us tonight with your antics. Now, Draco is calling a cab for you and you would be wise to get in it when it comes and go home. What? Do you understand?" Ron was looking at Hermione with an odd expression. "I said, do you understand?"

Finally, he shook his head. "No, Hermione. No I don't understand. I don't understand how you hired him as one of your Numbers. I don't understand how you let him kiss you just now and no, I don't understand why you just fucking called him _Draco._" Hermione was taken aback.

"I didn't call him-"

Draco walked toward them, causing Hermione to cut herself off. "The taxi is around the corner," he told them before turning exclusively to Ron. "You're lucky the Ministry had one so close."

Ron glared at the blonde. "Do not speak to me, you lowlife scum." Draco wanted to hit him again but was stopped by Hermione smacking Ron in the face.

"Stop it!" she yelled. "You're going to pull yourself together, get in the cab, go home and think about what you've done. Don't you dare come to my office or flat until you're ready to apologize." The witch grabbed Ron roughly by his jacket and shoved him toward the mouth of the alley. "Leave!" she called shrilly after her former lover. Ron stumbled away, casting a glance back over his shoulder before he rounded the corner and was gone from their sight.

"Well that was quite impressive, I have to say-"

"Don't, Malfoy. Just don't. Not right now," Hermione interrupted. Draco lapsed into silence, confused, annoyed and pissed off all at once. This hadn't been the night he was planning when he had kissed her a moment ago. _What _had _I been planning? _He thought to himself. _I'm a fucking idiot for kissing her in the first place, what was I even _thinking_? Bloody stupid in the first place. Never mix business with pleasure, never. _He looked over at Hermione. _No matter how much you want to…_

"Take me home," Hermione was saying, bringing Draco out of his thoughts.

"Yes," he agreed shortly and they began to make their way back to Hermione's flat. Halfway there, Draco noticed Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "You're shaking," he said.

Hermione shook her head. "It's nothing, I'm just a bit cold."

"Do you want my-" he made to offer his coat but Hermione cut him off.

"No, no it's fine. I'm just…it's just that I haven't seen Ron in a long time and then he shows up tonight of all nights when we…when we were…" They had reached Hermione's building and she tapped her key at the entrance, and then at the elevator, calling the muggle lift electronically to take her and Draco up to her floor. They rode the elevator in silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, but Draco could sense her mind was elsewhere. They arrived at her door and Hermione tried to fit the keys into her lock. "Damn it," she said, dropping her key ring. "I'm just…fuck," she swore.

Draco bent to get the keys and handed them back to Hermione. "It's been a long night," he tried to soothe her.

"Indeed," Hermione muttered darkly as she opened the door and went inside. Draco followed after her, taking off his coat.

"Do you want me to mirror Carl and tell him about this?" He moved to put his transi-force down on the sideboard and looked at her from the relection of the mirror above the table. "I can leave out whatever…details…you would like me to and just-"

"No, that's okay." Hermione's voice sounded odd. Draco looked up from the mirror in his hands, already sparkling with purple magic ready to call Carl when he saw Hermione sit heavily down on her couch. Draco put the mirror down on the table and moved to stand in front of where Hermione was sitting.

"Are you okay? I'm really sorry about what happened, I truly am. I had no idea that he…well anyway. I didn't mean to punch him in the face, I just lost control. It must have something to do with the way I feel around you." Draco coughed. "You know, because of the prophecy…" Draco let his sentence linger when he didn't see a reaction from his boss. He peered down into her stony face. "Are you alright? Granger, look at me."

"It was just like last time," she mumbled. "Just like when it happened before."

Draco stilled, unsure of what to do. He knew she must be talking about a previous fight she would have had with Ron Weasley, but he wasn't sure. "Granger?" Draco ventured warily.

Hermione turned and looked up at her Number Three and Draco was again struck by how expressive her eyes were. "I'm sorry for what happened back there," she said, brows frowning in concern.

He gave a brief laugh. "It wasn't your fault, at all. It was mine." Draco didn't know if he should move away, or closer. _Comforting the boss wasn't exactly covered in the MDPA Training Guide._

"Do you want a drink?" Hermione broke the silence.

Draco shifted back on his heels, surprised. "What? Uh, sure, thanks."

Hermione stood up abruptly, closing the distance between them too fast for Draco to react. They stood there, close but not touching. Hermione felt dizzy. "Listen, Malfoy, I don't know what's happening to us and I don't know how to feel about it. What I do know is how I feel around you is good, and right…at least for the time being while we figure this whole prophecy thing out. No, you don't have to say anything. I guess what _I'm _trying to say is, thank you. For, you know, defending my honor or whatever." Draco chuckled, the sound deep in his chest, causing Hermione's heart to squeeze. "It was very brave." She added, grinning up at him cheekily, her tone holding only a pinch of sarcasm.

Draco smiled down at her. "You're welcome," he said, adding to the joke before adopting a more serious look. "I am sorry though. I mean, what you said before, like way before, about trusting me and how I'm not a bad person…it just…I don't know what I'm saying." Draco could feel his cheeks warm with embarrassment. _Fucking whiskey,_ he thought.

Hermione tilted her face up at his some more with an odd look in her eye. A curl framed one side of her face, quite beautifully, Draco thought. He tucked it behind her ear before jerking his hand back. "I'm sorry," he apologized, also thinking back to their kiss at the bar. "I think we both had a little too much to drink and we're not thinking clearly."

Hermione suddenly stood on her tiptoes, coming closer to him but stopping just short of his mouth, as if in question of what she was doing. She hovered there, uncertain. Draco's heart pounded in his chest. In a flash, he realized that he wanted to feel again what he had felt at the bar. He didn't care if it felt dangerous; he just wanted it back. The feeling had been intoxicating and he needed to know if it was real, if it could happen again.

Draco couldn't take the anticipation any longer; he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips into hers. For a moment they just stayed there, mouths pressed hotly together, feeling connected in this one instance. Hermione let her eyes close gently, enjoying the feel of warm electricity run through her body. She let the corners of her mouth tug upwards slightly in a smile of her pleasure. Draco had almost pulled away, shocked at what he felt coursing through his body, but when he felt her lips curl upward, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the kiss.

Their lips parted easily, almost as if in sync, exploring each other's mouth tenderly, but with an edge of desperation that neither could conceal. Draco's mind felt as if it were floating, he couldn't remember ever feeling like this before. He felt Hermione's intake of breath as she felt the pleasure of him easing his tongue into her mouth slowly, deeply. She shuddered at the sensual carnality of the kiss and couldn't help think that she wanted more, needed more, as if Draco were some incredible magnet that she was unable to move away from, unable to stop her body from responding in this way as he tasted her and as she kissed him deeply back.

Draco felt Hermione's hand sneak up and lightly, hesitatingly, tangle gently into his hair, with her palm around the back of his neck. Her touch was so innocent, so perfectly _Hermione_, it made him groan as he wanted to close what little distance was left between them. Hermione gasped when Draco's arms went around her, surrounding her with his strength as he pulled her hard against him. She moved to place her other arm around his neck, encircling him with her touch. She could feel his skin that was more than warm to the touch, soft, lovely skin that made her wonder what the rest of him felt like. She could feel the muscles of his shoulders, hard and smooth, through the material of his MDP regulation shirt and let out a small whimper as his hands found the small of her back, pressing her even closer to him.

The kiss deepened, becoming more intense with both Draco and Hermione feeling slightly sick with desire. The magic that coursed through them, enhanced by their proximity and touches, settled deep into their minds, making them both feel clear headed and yet drugged at the same time. Hermione felt good, the shadows in her mind were completely gone and she was focused completely on…_Draco Malfoy!_

Hermione broke the kiss, staring up at Draco with wide, shocked eyes. "What are we _doing_?" she said, sounding slightly hysterical. Draco's eyes opened a beat after, his expression dazed and heavy with need.

"We are…were…kissing," he said, his words coming to his mouth slowly through the fog of his desire.

Hermione stepped back slightly, as much as she could with Draco's arms still holding her around her waist. She tried to collect her whirling thoughts but they escaped her. Looking up at Draco, Hermione's whole body ached; she felt a hollow throbbing on the inside and _ached_ to press herself against his chest once more. She was more conscious of Draco than she had ever been before, of way the orb-light in her flat danced across his soft skin, of the shadow of light stubble across his jaw where he hadn't shaved, the strong line of his jaw that drew her eyes down across his throat to the muscled shape of his of his shoulders around which her own arms were still clasped. Most of all, she was aware of his mouth, the crescent shape of it, the slight dent in the center of his bottom lip, how red his lips seemed from kissing her.

"We should stop," she said, leaning closer to him, not really wanting him to leave.

Draco nodded, a small frown creasing his brow. "We should, this is inappropriate."

"Very inappropriate. You're my Number Three, I am Alderman Hermione Granger of the Ministry of Magic and this is not…this is not…" Draco had removed his arms from around the small of her back, distracting her. He moved his hands up to her face and cupped her cheeks, thumbs gently stroking her skin.

"I can't stop myself," Draco said, his voice deep and heavy. "I don't know what this is that I'm feeling, but I can't stop myself. You're going to have to ask me to leave or I won't be able to." Something in the tone of his words caused a bolt of hot excitement to shoot through Hermione's and curl, throbbing, between her legs. She let out a soft moan and bit her lip. Moving slowly, as if not to frighten her away, Draco leaned down toward her and brushed his lips across hers, and she reached for him as if she would otherwise drown.

Hermione let her face be turned up to his, thinking she should protest, thoughts that quickly dissolved into a groan of surrender as he drove his mouth down on hers with a hungry kiss that splintered her senses. They kissed each other with abandon; slow, intense kisses, their mouths searching for deeper connection, each wanting to feel as much as was possible. Hermione felt herself pull on his hair, her grip becoming tighter, her tugs coming harder in spite of herself. Draco caught her lower lip in his teeth and tugged lazily away, returning to catch it again, before placing his mouth firmly over hers, plundering.

Hermione could feel their hands begin to descend. Exploring the shape of each other's bodies with only their clothes to stop them from feeling skin. She knew what was going to happen next if she didn't get some sort of grip on reality again. She kissed him, long and hard before quickly breaking away, breathing heavily. "Go," she said in a husky voice. "You have to go, now, otherwise…" she trailed off, looking at Draco who's gaze was dark with passion, eyes that caused her words to catch in her throat. Gently, she removed his hands from around her waist and took a step back from him. "I'm asking you to leave." Her voice was soft and warm, filled with a plea that Draco couldn't decipher.

They stood there for a moment, apart with only hands touching, Hermione's head bent, dropping her eyes from his gaze to make it easier on herself. She let her hands linger upon his a minute longer before dropping them. She inhaled deeply, controlling her emotions, and stood up straight, shaking the hair out of her eyes and smoothing her curls into a quick ponytail. "I'm sorry," she said.

Draco shook his head, looking pained but rational. "I understand. I…" he trailed off, perhaps thinking better of what he had just been about to say. "You're okay for the evening? You'll be alright?"

Hermione let out a quick laugh. "Alright? No, I don't think so. But I'll make it through the night." They stared at each other then, both pairs of eyes filled with such and intense longing that it caused each of their hearts to ache. "I will see you on Monday," Hermione said slowly, almost sadly, but with a tone of finality that shook Draco from his thoughts. He moved to collect his coat and MDP tech from the sideboard. Without another word, he left her flat.

_What have I done?_ Hermione thought, alone in her flat, her feelings the only company for the rest of the long night. Retreating to her room, she curled up on her bed over the covers, hugging her knees to her chest. _What am I going to do about Draco Malfoy?_

* * *

><p><strong>Awwww yiiisssss kissy kissy!<strong>_  
><em>

**review?**


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